to herself, "I would have done it
long since. But that which made it improper then would make it still
more improper now." And so she held her peace and told Mr. Western
nothing of the story.

He came to her the day after his offer and demanded her answer. But
she was not as yet able to give it to him. She had in the meantime
told her mother, and had received from her that ready, willing, quick
assurance of her sanction which was sure to operate in a different
way than that intended. Her mother was thinking only of her material
interests,--of a comfortable house and a steady, well-to-do life's
companion. Of what more should she have thought? the reader will
say. But Cecilia had still in her head undefined, vague notions of
something which might be better than that,--of some companion who
might be better than the companions which other girls generally
choose for themselves. She dreamed of some one who should sit with
her during the long mornings and read Dante to her,--when she should
have taught herself to understand it; of some one with a hidden
nobility of character which should be all but divine. Her invectives
against matrimony had all come from a fear lest the man with the
hidden nobility should not be forthcoming. She had tried, or had
nearly tried, Sir Francis Geraldine, and had made one hideous
mistake. Was or was not this Mr. Western a man with all such hidden
nobility? If so she thought that she might love him.

She required a week, and gave her whole thoughts to the object.
Should she or should she not abandon that mode of life to which
she had certainly pledged herself? In the first days of the misery
created by the Geraldine disruption she had declared that she would
never more open her ears or her heart to matrimonial projects. The
promise had only been made to Miss Altifiorla,--to Miss Altifiorla
and to herself. At the present moment she did not greatly regard Miss
Altifiorla;--but the promise made to herself and corroborated by her
assurance to another, almost overcame her. And then there was that
story which she could not now tell to Mr. Western. She could not say
to him:--"Yes, I will accept you, but you must first hear my tale;"
and then tell him the exact copy of his own to her. And yet it
was necessary that he should know. The time must come,--some day.
Alas! she did not remember that no day could be less painful,--less
disagreeable than the present. If he did not like the story now he
could tell