The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (7.1895)

160 A Correspondence
I'he confession broke from Cecily’s lips hesitatingly, and then
shfplaid one arm hopelessly against the window frame, and hid her
wet1-eyes against it.
Gretchen did not speak for a minute.
“ The letter, you mean ? ” she asked at length, quietly. “Well
—there is nothing so dreadful about that, is there ? ”
“ Oh, yes, there is—yes, there is—for me! ” wailed Cecily.
“You may read it.” She held out the letter, looking up at
Gretchen despairingly. “ You’ll see. He asks what I thought of
some of those statues in Rome—and—and the pictures. And
—I didn’t think anything. Oh, Gretchen ! I know I’m very
stupid—but—I had no thoughts about them, except—I wondered
why they kept broken statues in such grand places. But I can’t
tell him that, can I ? because people, clever people, think they
are beautiful—without noses—or anything. And all that he says
about the scenery—and you know what my spelling is like—and
oh, Gretchen ! Don’t—don’t smile like that! ”
Cecily shrank back into the corner of the window seat, and
covered her face with both hands. Perhaps she had never made
such a long speech before—but Gretchen had seemed sorry.
There was quite a long silence. The crisp paper crackled as
Miss Verrol turned the sheets ; still Cecily did not look up.
“ Well, do you want me to answer it for you ? ” The question
was accompanied by a short laugh.
The girl’s hands dropped from her face in a second, and her
eyes sought Gretchen’s inquiringly—incredulously.
“ Gretchen—do you mean it ? Would you ? Not really ? ”
“Where is that silk gauze of yours?” asked Gretchen, crossing
the room and stooping over a drawer.
“ In that box,” replied Cecily, sighing—the chance of relief
was gone then.

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