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Updated: June 9, 2025
I know my own mind, now." She did not note the pathetic tenderness of Cyrilla's face as she said, "Good night, Mildred." But she did note the use of her first name and her own right first name for the first time since they had known each other. She embraced and kissed her again. "Good night, Cyrilla," she said gratefully.
It was afterward that you discovered he was not slovenly, but clean and neat, not badly but well dressed, not homely but handsome, not sickly but soundly well, not physically weak but strong, not dull but vividly alive, not a tiresome void but an unfathomable mystery. "What does he do?" she asked Mrs. Brindley. Cyrilla's usually positive gray eyes looked vague. She smiled.
"Often one sees more clearly," was Cyrilla's reply noncommittal, yet not discouraging. "I'm free to marry him," Mildred went on. "That is, I'm not married. I'd rather not explain " "Don't," said Mrs. Brindley. "It's unnecessary." "You know that it's Stanley who has been lending me the money to live on while I study.
Besides Miss Marshall, the new music teacher fell to Cyrilla's share. Mary drew Mrs. Plunkett and the dressmaker, and Carol drew Mrs. Johnson and old Mr. Grant. For the next two hours the girls wrote busily, forgetting all about the rainy day, and enjoying their epistolary labours to the full. It was dusk when all the letters were finished.
Lucy Rose, in spite of her prejudices, helped with the packing and, not having been trained under Aunt Cyrilla's eye for nothing, did it very well too, with much clever economy of space.
Everybody declared they had never enjoyed a meal more in their lives. Certainly it was a merry one, and Aunt Cyrilla's cooking was never more appreciated; indeed, the bones of the chicken and the pot of preserves were all that was left. They could not eat the preserves because they had no spoons, so Aunt Cyrilla gave them to the little mother.
"That's just it?" said Mildred, her face carefully averted. "I I happen to be in love with another man." A spasm of pain crossed Cyrilla's face. "A man who cares nothing about me and never will.
"It's as sweet as yourself, dear child," she said tenderly. "And it will be a joy to me all through the lonely winter days. You've found out the best meaning of Christmas giving, haven't you, dear?" "Yes, thanks to you, Aunt Emmy," said Clorinda softly. Cyrilla's Inspiration It was a rainy Saturday afternoon and all the boarders at Mrs.
In all their intimate acquaintance there had never been an approach to the confidential on either side. It was Cyrilla's notion that confidences were a mistake, and that the more closely people were thrown together the more resolutely they ought to keep certain barriers between them.
Toward the end of the dinner, when the Girl was beginning to recover herself, he turned to her. "You know I promised never to tell," he said. "Be sure you don't, then," said the Girl meekly. "But aren't you glad you left the loophole?" he persisted. The Girl smiled down into her lap. "Perhaps," she said. Aunt Cyrilla's Christmas Basket
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