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Updated: June 25, 2025
Celia stood looking down at the doctor as her sister came up the steps. "It's strange," she said, "for I know Lanse isn't badly hurt, but all I can think of to-night is how I wish father and mother were here." "That's been in my head all day," said Charlotte, with her arm around Celia's shoulder. "I can understand," Doctor Churchill answered them both, and they knew he could.
"You'll find no dissenting voice here," Celia's father declared, and her mother added: "Nobody who knows her could expect her to be anything else." Celia looked away, her cheeks flushing. "So now I want her to have her reward," said Captain Rayburn. "Let me take her with me for the year abroad."
There was no lift at Brown's; its steps were as stony and as steep as those of which Dante complained; the rail on which Celia's hand rested occasionally was of iron; and Brown's whitewashed corridors, devoid of ornament, were so severe as to resemble those of a prison; indeed, more than one of the inhabitants of the Buildings spoke of them, with grim facetiousness, as The Jail.
After a time he drove slowly by the house in the high blue cart. "Was there anything for him?" asked the Professor. The Post Mistress looked after the cart receding into a cloud of dust blown up by the wind and brushed her fingers across her eyes. "There was nothing for him," she said. On the winter following Celia's departure, Seth fared ill.
"You see," Nan explained, "we have only a few more days in Chicago and I am so desirous of finding Sallie and Celia. Poor Mrs. Morton is heart-broken, and I expect Celia's mother fears all the time for her daughter's safety, too." "Those foolish girls!" Mrs. Mason said. "I am glad you young people haven't this general craze for exhibiting one's self in moving pictures."
And we shall find out where the rest is hid from her." And she nodded at Celia. The three people ate their supper, and, while they ate it, discussed Celia's fate. She was lying with her head bowed upon her arms at the same table, within a foot of them. But they made no more of her presence than if she had been an old shoe. Only once did one of them speak to her.
Dario, no doubt, was of Celia's opinion, for he again looked at Benedetta, but with a gay toss of the head, as if to say that, although the girl might love him, he did not love her. A bead-worker indeed, a girl of the lowest classes, pooh! She might be a Venus, but she could be nothing to him.
At intervals, through the intensity of her silence, she heard Celia's fresh, sweet laughter, and Berkley's humorous and engaging voice. She glanced sideways at the back of his dark curly head where it bent beside Celia's over the album. What an insolently reckless head it was! She thought that she had never before seen the back of any man's head so significant of character or the want of it.
May I sit down you're sure I shan't disturb you, be a nuisance?" "Oh, no," replied Celia, pushing forward one of the antique but comfortable chairs. Lady Heyton seated herself, looked round her, and then fixed her eyes on Celia's face, curiously. "And so you are the lady librarian; and this is where you work? How charming! Why didn't you come in to dinner to-night?" she asked, abruptly.
They had come very near when Mr. Casaubon answered "That is a young relative of mine, a second cousin: the grandson, in fact," he added, looking at Dorothea, "of the lady whose portrait you have been noticing, my aunt Julia." The young man had laid down his sketch-book and risen. His bushy light-brown curls, as well as his youthfulness, identified him at once with Celia's apparition.
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