After two hours spent in her own room, Cecilia went downstairs. But she was restless and uneasy, and seemed unable to settle to anything for many minutes at a time. Sketching, reading, needlework were each tried in turn, and each in turn discarded. Several times Mora looked at her with inquiring eyes, but said nothing. Twice her aunt said, "Cecilia, I do wish you wouldn't fidget so you are as bad as any child of six."
The ladies dined early when they had no company. After dinner Mrs. Percival went out. The two girls sat by themselves in the drawing-room. By and by Mora went to the piano and began to play. Cecilia sat and looked into the fire and listened, or, without listening, felt, half-unconsciously, the sweet influence of the music steal into her senses. Then the twilight deepened, and Binks came in and lighted the lamps. But still Mora went on playing, and still Cecilia sat and gazed dreamily into the fire.
By and by Mora looked round and saw that she was alone. Cecilia had slipped through the curtains that shrouded one end of the room from the conservatory beyond. There was just enough light in the conservatory to enable Mora to see Cecilia as she sat among the orange-trees at the foot of a statue of Silence, that loomed white and ghost-like above her. Mora knelt by her friend and took one of Cecilia's hands in hers and pressed it to her lips. "What is it, darling?" she whispered. "Tell me what it is that is troubling you." Cold and calculating in many ways as Mora Browne might be, there was at least one sweet, unselfish impulse in her heart, and that was her love for Cecilia Collumpton.
Cecilia responded to her friend's question by stooping and kissing her. Then she whispered--but it was a whisper so faint that if the statue bending over her with its white finger on its white lips had been endowed with life it could not have overheard what she said--"He has written to me and told me that he loves me!"
Mora started, but Cecilia's arms held her fast and would not let her go. "Who has written to you? Not Mr. Fildew?"
"Yes--Mr. Fildew."
"How sorry I am to hear this!"
"I am not sorry."
"You don't mean to say that--"
"Yes, I do. Why not?" Then Cecilia's arms were loosened, and Mora rose to her feet.