Sophie in
the face while the lies were coming out of her mouth (if they were real
lies, and not a bastard kind of truth, good while spoken, and the next
moment degenerating into falsehood). Notwithstanding these minor
defects, it was a very successful effort--excitement, and even vehement
emotion, were quite admissible in a warm-hearted girl who had her
sister's welfare nearly at heart, and much might be allowed to
surprise. Indeed, Sophie, though a good deal agitated, and even anxious,
was not in the least suspicious or dissatisfied. Such was the loyalty
and humility of her own nature, that much stronger grounds would have
failed to inspire misgivings.

"I thought you were going to be ill, at first," she remarked, with a
loving smile. "Perhaps I told you too abruptly--did I? You see, I
thought you half knew it already--at least, that you suspected it--and,
then, to tell the truth, dear," added she, with a bright smile in her
eyes, "I didn't think you'd care so much--be so _very_ glad, I mean.
There never was so sweet a sister as you."

Cornelia felt that this must not go on any longer. She could feel her
cheeks getting hot, and her eyes bright--very little more, and there
would be an outburst. She must leave the room at all hazards, and be by
herself.

She got up, and stood unsteadily, with her cold hand to her hot
forehead.

"I believe I _don't_ feel very well, Sophie. I think I must have a
little palpitation, or something. I've been awfully dissipated, and all
that, you know, with Aunt Margaret. I feel a little run down. Oh! it's
nothing serious. Don't tell papa! no--don't on any account. I'll just go
to my room, and lie down for half an hour. I shall be all right before
tea-time. You must tell me all the particulars afterward--not just this
moment. Don't mention any thing about me, you know, and don't let any
one come up. Good-by till supper, dear. _Au revoir_."

She got out of the room, not very gracefully, probably, but still she
escaped. A few hurried and uneven steps down the entry brought her to
her own door. She burst it open, entered, and locked it behind her in
feverish haste. Then, with a miserable sense of luxury, she flung
herself on the bed, and was alone.

Her first sensation, as soon as the tumult in her thoughts suffered her
to have any intelligent sensation at all, was one of secret pleasure and
relief. It was a surprise to herself--she even struggled against it, and
tried to convince herself