Cecilia was so infatuated with her vanity, that she neither perceived Leonora’s sign nor Louisa’s confusion, but continued showing off her present, by placing it in various situations, till at length she put it into the case, and laying it down with an affected carelessness upon the bed, “I must go now, Louisa. Good-bye,” said she, running up and kissing her; “but I’ll come again presently,” then, clapping the door after her she went. But as soon as the formentation of her spirits subsided, the sense of shame, which had been scarcely felt when mixed with so many other sensations, rose uppermost in her mind. “What!” said she to herself, “is it possible that I have sold what I promised to keep for ever? and what Leonora gave me? and I have concealed it too, and have been making a parade of my generosity. Oh! what would Leonora, what would Louisa—what would everybody think of me, if the truth were known?” Humiliated and grieved by these reflections, Cecilia began to search in her own mind for some consoling idea. She began to compare her conduct with that of others of her own age; and at length, fixing her comparison upon her brother George, as the companion of whom, from her infancy, she had been habitually the most emulous, she recollected that an almost similar circumstance had once happened to him, and that he had not only escaped disgrace, but had acquired glory, by an intrepid confession of his fault. Her father’s word to her brother, on the occasion, she also perfectly recollected. “Come to me, George,” he said holding out his hand, “you are a generous, brave boy: they who dare to confess their faults will make great and good men.” These were his words; but Cecilia, in repeating them to herself, forgot to lay that emphasis on the word _men_, which would have placed it in contradistinction to the word women. She willingly believed that the observation extended equally to both sexes, and flattered herself that she should exceed her brother in merit if she owned a fault, which she thought that it would be so much more difficult to confess. “Yes, but,” said she, stopping herself, “how can I confess it? This very evening, in a few hours, the prize will be decided. Leonora or I shall win it. I have now as good a chance as Leonora, perhaps a better; and must I give up all my hopes—all that I have been labouring for this month past? Oh, I never can! If it were but to-morrow, or yesterday, or any day but this, I would not hesitate; but now I am almost certain of the prize, and if I win it—well, why then I will—I think I will tell all—yes I will; I am determined,” said Cecilia.