It was Sister Cecilia,
walking with that mincing lightness of tread which seems to be the
outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual superiority over the
remainder of womanhood. Good women--those mistaken females who move in an
atmosphere of ostentatious good works--usually walk like this. Like this
they enter the humble cot with a little soup and a lot of advice. Like
this they smilingly step, where angels would fear to tread, upon feelings
which they are incapable of understanding.
Mrs. Glynde got quietly up and left the room. As the door closed behind
her Sister Cecilia's gently persuasive voice was heard.
"Dora! Dora dear!"
"Yes," replied the girl without any enthusiasm, rising and going to the
window.
"Will you walk with me a little way across the fields? It is such a
lovely evening."
"Yes, if you like."
And Dora passed out of the open window.
"I am sorry," said Sister Cecilia after a few paces, "that you were not
in church. We had such a bright service.
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