“Oh, no. I didn’t hear you come in; but what have you got there?”
“Only a little box; would you like to have it? I bought on purpose for you, as I thought perhaps it would please you, because it’s like that which I gave Cecilia.”
“Oh, yes! that out of which she used to give me Barbary drops. I am very much obliged to you; I always thought that exceedingly pretty, and this, indeed, is as like it as possible. I can’t unscrew it; will you try?”
Leonora unscrewed it. “Goodness!” exclaimed Louisa, “this must be Cecilia’s box. Look, don’t you see a great L at the bottom of it?”
Leonora’s colour changed. “Yes,” she replied calmly, “I see that; but it is no proof that it is Cecilia’s. You know that I bought this box just now of the peddler.”
“That may be,” said Louisa; “but I remember scratching that L with my own needle, and Cecilia scolded me for it, too. Do go and ask her if she has lost her box—do,” repeated Louisa, pulling her by the ruffle, as she did not seem to listen.
Leonora, indeed, did not hear, for she was lost in thought. She was comparing circumstances, which had before escaped her attention. She recollected that Cecilia had passed her as she came into the hall, without seeming to see her, but had blushed as she passed. She remembered that the peddler appeared unwilling to part with the box, and was going to put it again in his pocket with the halfpence. “And why should he keep it in his pocket, and not show it with his other things?” Combining all these circumstances, Leonora had no longer any doubt of the truth, for though she had honourable confidence in her friends, she had too much penetration to be implicitly credulous.
“Louisa,” she began, but at this instant she heard a step, which, by its quickness, she knew to be Cecilia’s, coming along the passage. “If you love me, Louisa,” said Leonora, “say nothing about the box.”
“Nay, but why not? I daresay she had lost it.”
“No, my dear, I’m afraid she has not.” Louisa looked surprised. “But I have reasons for desiring you not to say anything about it.”