“Yes,” said Cynthia, that peculiar flash coming into her eyes again, “and I think it was very foolish of them.”

“Do you?” exclaimed Miss Duncan, in surprise; “I wish somebody would serenade me.  I think it was the most romantic thing Bob ever did.  He’s wild about you, and so is Somers they have both told me so in confidence.”

Cynthia’s face was naturally burning now.

“If it were true,” she said, “they wouldn’t have told you about it.”

“I suppose that’s so,” said Miss Duncan, thoughtfully, “only you’re very clever to have seen it.  Now that I know you, I think you a more remarkable person than ever.  You don’t seem at all like a country girl, and you don’t talk like one.”

Cynthia laughed outright.  She could not help liking Janet Duncan, mere flesh and blood not being proof against such compliments.

“I suppose it’s because my father was an educated man,” she said; “he taught me to read and speak when I was young.”

“Why, you are just like a person out of a novel!  Who was your father?”

“He kept the store at Coniston,” answered Cynthia, smiling a little sadly.  She would have liked to have added that William Wetherell would have been a great man if he had had health, but she found it difficult to give out confidences, especially when they were in the nature of surmises.

“Well,” said Janet, stoutly, “I think that is more like a story than ever.  Do you know,” she continued, “I saw you once at the state capital outside of our grounds the day Bob ran after you.  That was when I was in love with him.  We had just come back from Europe then, and I thought he was the most wonderful person I had ever seen.”

If Cynthia had felt any emotion from this disclosure, she did not betray it.  Janet, moreover, was not looking for it.

“What made you change your mind?” asked Cynthia, biting her lip.

“Oh, Bob hasn’t the temperament,” said Janet, making use of a word that she had just discovered; “he’s too practical—­he never does or says the things you want him to.  He’s just been out West with us on a trip, and he was always looking at locomotives and brakes and grades and bridges and all such tiresome things.  I should like to marry a poet,” said Miss Duncan, dreamily; “I know they want me to marry Bob, and Mr. Worthington wants it.  I’m sure, of that.  But he wouldn’t at all suit me.”

If Cynthia had been able to exercise an equal freedom of speech, she might have been impelled to inquire what young Mr. Worthington’s views were in the matter.  As it was, she could think of nothing appropriate to say, and just then four people entered the room and came towards them.  Two of these were Janet’s mother and father, and the other two were Mr. Worthington, the elder, and the Honorable Heth Sutton.  Mrs. Duncan, whom Janet did not at all resemble was a person who naturally commanded attention.  She had strong features, and a very decided, though not disagreeable, manner.