"That's better," she said, with an approving nod; "much better."
She rose, and going up to her daughter rearranged her dress a little. "You look very nice, dear," she paid, with a little cough. "Mr. Truefitt ought to be proud of you. Good-by."
Her daughter kissed her, and then, having got as far as the door, came back and kissed her again. She made a second attempt to depart, and then, conscience proving too much for her, uttered a stifled sob and came back to her mother.
"Oh, I can't," she wailed; "I can't."
"You'll be late," said her mother, pushing her away. "Good-by."
"I can't," sobbed Miss Willett; "I can't do it. I'm—I'm deceiving——"
"Yes, yes," said the old lady, hastily; "tell me another time. Good-by."
She half led and half thrust her daughter to the door.
"But," said the conscience-stricken Cecilia, "you don't under—"