ars confirmed, and in accordance with the secret vein of
hardness which kept her living, amid all her sympathies and hesitations,
Cecilia felt suddenly that she had gone as far as it was in her to go.

"I shall have no more to do with them," she said; "I've tried my best
for Mrs. Hughs. I know quite as good a needlewoman, who'll be only too
glad to come instead. Any other girl will do as well to copy father's
book. If you take my advice, Hilary, you'll give up trying to help them
too."

Hilary's smile puzzled and annoyed her. If she had known, this was the
smile that stood between him and her sister.

"You may be right," he said, and shrugged his shoulders:

"Very well," said Cecilia, "I've done all I can. I must go now.
Good-bye."

During her progress to the door she gave one look behind. Hilary was
standing by the bust of Socrates. Her heart smote her to leave him thus
embarrassed. But again the vision of Bianca--fugitive in her own house,
and with something tragic in her mocking immobility--came to her, and
she hastened away.

A voice said: "How are you, Mrs. Dallison? Your sister at home?"

Cecilia saw before her Mr. Purcey, rising and falling a little with the
oscillation of his A.i. Damyer.

A sense as of having just left a house visited by sickness or misfortune
made Cecilia murmur:

"I'm afraid she's not."

"Bad luck!" said Mr. Purcey. His face fell as far as so red and square
a face could fall. "I was hoping perhaps I might be allowed to take
them for a run. She's wanting exercise." Mr. Purcey laid his hand on the
flank of his palpitating car. "Know these A.i. Damyers, Mrs. Dallison?
Best value you can get, simply rippin' little cars. Wish you'd try her."

The A.i. Damyer, diffusing an aroma of the finest petrol, leaped and
trembled, as though conscious of her master's praise. Cecilia looked at
her.

"Yes," she said, "she's very sweet."

"Now do!" said Mr. Purcey. "Let me give you a run--Just to please me, I
mean. I'm sure you'll like her."

A little compunction, a little curiosity, a sudden revolt against all
the discomfiture and sordid doubts she had been suffering from, made
Cecilia glance softly at Mr. Purcey's figure; almost before she knew
it, she was seated in the A.i. Damyer. It trembled, emitted two small
sounds, one large scent, and glided forward. Mr. Purcey said:

"That's rippin' of you!"

A postman, dog, and baker's cart, all hurrying at top speed, seemed to
stand still; Cecili