Miss Willett, who had been glancing restlessly at the clock, started violently.
"To—to—to-day," she gasped.
Mrs. Willett said "Oh!"
"I—I was going out with him at eleven—for a little walk," said her daughter, nervously. "Just a stroll."
Mrs. Willett nodded. "Do you good," she said, slowly. "What are you going to wear?"
Her daughter, still trembling, looked at her in surprise. "This," she said, touching her plain brown dress.
Mrs. Willett's voice began to tremble. "It's—it's rather plain," she said. "I like my daughter to be nicely dressed, especially when she is going out with her future husband. Go upstairs and put on your light green."
Miss Willett, paler than ever, gave a hasty and calculating glance at the clock and disappeared.
"And your new hat," Mrs. Willett called after her.
She looked at the clock too, and then, almost as excited as her daughter, began to move restlessly about the room. Her hands shook, and going up to the glass over the mantel-piece she removed her spectacles and dabbed indignantly at her eyes. By the time Cecilia returned she was sitting in her favourite chair, a picture of placid and indifferent old age.