Cecilia was so infatuated with her vanity, that she neither perceived Leonora’s sign nor Louisa’s confusion, but continued showing off her present, by placing it in various situations, till at length she put it into the case, and laying it down with an affected carelessness upon the bed, “I must go now, Louisa. Good-bye,” said she, running up and kissing her; “but I’ll come again presently,” then, clapping the door after her she went. But as soon as the formentation of her spirits subsided, the sense of shame, which had been scarcely felt when mixed with so many other sensations, rose uppermost in her mind. “What!” said she to herself, “is it possible that I have sold what I promised to keep for ever? and what Leonora gave me? and I have concealed it too, and have been making a parade of my generosity. Oh! what would Leonora, what would Louisa—what would everybody think of me, if the truth were known?”
Humiliated and grieved by these reflections, Cecilia began to search in her own mind for some consoling idea. She began to compare her conduct with that of others of her own age; and at length, fixing her comparison upon her brother George, as the companion of whom, from her infancy, she had been habitually the most emulous, she recollected that an almost similar circumstance had once happened to him, and that he had not only escaped disgrace, but had acquired glory, by an intrepid confession of his fault. Her father’s word to her brother, on the occasion, she also perfectly recollected.
“Come to me, George,” he said holding out his hand, “you are a generous, brave boy: they who dare to confess their faults will make great and good men.”
These were his words; but Cecilia, in repeating them to herself, forgot to lay that emphasis on the word men, which would have placed it in contradistinction to the word women. She willingly believed that the observation extended equally to both sexes, and flattered herself that she should exceed her brother in merit if she owned a fault, which she thought that it would be so much more difficult to confess. “Yes, but,” said she, stopping herself, “how can I confess it? This very evening, in a few hours, the prize will be decided. Leonora or I shall win it. I have now as good a chance as Leonora, perhaps a better; and must I give up all my hopes—all that I have been labouring for this month past? Oh, I never can! If it were but to-morrow, or yesterday, or any day but this, I would not hesitate; but now I am almost certain of the prize, and if I win it—well, why then I will—I think I will tell all—yes I will; I am determined,” said Cecilia.
Here a bell summoned them to dinner. Leonora sat opposite to her, and she was not a little surprised to see Cecilia look so gay and unconstrained. “Surely,” said she to herself, “if Cecilia had done that which I suspect, she would not, she could not, look as she does.” But Leonora little knew the cause of her gaiety. Cecilia was never in higher spirits, or better pleased with herself, than when she had resolved upon a sacrifice or a confession.
“Must not this evening be given to the most amiable? Whose, then, will it be?” All eyes glanced first at Cecilia, and then at Leonora. Cecilia smiled; Leonora blushed. “I see that it is not yet decided,” said Mrs. Villars; and immediately they ran upstairs, amidst confused whisperings.
Cecilia’s voice could be distinguished far above the rest. “How can she be so happy!” said Leonora to herself. “Oh Cecilia, there was a time when you could not have neglected me so! when we were always together the best of friends and companions; our wishes, tastes, and pleasures the same! Surely she did once love me,” said Leonora; “but now she is quite changed. She has even sold my keepsake; and she would rather win a bracelet of hair from girls whom she did not always think so much superior to Leonora, than have my esteem, my confidence, and my friendship for her whole life—yes, for her whole life, for I am sure she will be an amiable woman. Oh, that this bracelet had never been thought of, or that I were certain of her winning it; for I am sure that I do not wish to win it from her. I would rather—a thousand times rather—that we were as we used to be than have all the glory in the world. And how pleasing Cecilia can be when she wishes to please!—how candid she is!—how much she can improve herself! Let me be just, though she has offended me; she is wonderfully improved within this last month. For one fault, and that against myself, shall I forget all her merits?”
As Leonora said these last words, she could but just hear the voices of her companions. They had left her alone in the gallery. She knocked softly at Louisa’s door. “Come in,” said Louisa; “I’m not asleep. Oh,” said she, starting up with the Flora in her hand, the instant that the door was opened; “I’m so glad you are come, Leonora, for I did so long to hear what you all were making such a noise about. Have you forgot that the bracelet—”
“Oh, yes! is this the evening?” inquired Leonora.
“Well, here’s my white shell for you,” said Louisa. “I’ve kept it in my pocket this fortnight; and though Cecilia did give me this Flora, I still love you a great deal better.”