She had carried his true voice with her wherever she went.... Often when things called men had asked for her hand because it held money, a genuine voice had echoed through the years.
"Pussy needs some Mothersills,----" she would hear, and then with an absurdly little-girl feel for being so influenced, she would gently discourage.
There had been some who really loved; some loving with an air of condescension showing through their manner,--others truly, and with humbleness. Some poor, weak, with only love as recommendation. Some just ordinary men,--one or two made big by what they felt for small Cecilia.
And with them all, something was wrong. She heard the echo of a nice boy's voice, as he bought a small girl a "choclut soda," and a sundae all-over-whipped-cream, and she heard it while she said: "No; I'm sorry. I really can't. I'm _never_ going to marry. I hope you'll find some one you'll like _much_ more than me!"
And they had all said they never would, which is the way with young men.... Cecilia had believed the first one, then life had taught her the quick healing of some hearts, and she had smiled a little when the rest said it.
That smile was always the undoing. They usually kissed the hem of her dress, and swore to shoot themselves, and Cecilia would whisper: "Oh, _please!_ Some one will see you!" or, "Oh, _please!_ Some one might hear you!" whichever the case might be. Then they always kissed her hand and went away, and Cecilia would sigh and say, "Well, I suppose that means an awfully nice wedding present soon, to show that I'm not put out!"
Sometimes she wondered if K. Stuyvesant Twombly were living, and if so, where? Then she often decided _not_ to think of him, because it was too childish.... And then she would discover that every life must have its fairy tale, and that he was hers.... "Home!" said Mrs. Aliston, with a sigh of relief. "Oh, my poor body! 'My little body is a-weary of this world.' Who said that, Cecilia? Bernard Shaw? or Arnold Bennett?"
"No," answered Cecilia, "I think it's in the Bible, but I can't just remember."
A groom stepped forward to lead Clara away to her boudoir and dinner. Cecilia went into the cool house to write her father on a small typewriter she carried for that purpose, Jeremiah being "partial to print."