“I am used to being believed, Mr. Sutton,” she said, “but here’s Uncle Jethro himself.  You might ask him.”

They all turned in amazement, and one, at least, in trepidation, to perceive Jethro Bass standing behind them with his hands in his pockets, as unconcerned as though he were under the butternut tree in Coniston.

“How be you, Heth?” he said.  “Er—­still got that appointment p-practically in your pocket?”

“Uncle Jethro,” said Cynthia, “Mr. Sutton does not believe me when I tell him that Cousin Ephraim has been made postmaster of Brampton.  He would like to have you tell him whether it is so or not.”

But this, as it happened, was exactly what the Honorable Heth did not want to have Jethro tell him.  How he got out of the parlor of the Willard House he has not to this day a very clear idea.  As a matter of fact, he followed Mr. Worthington and Mr. Duncan, and they made their exit by the farther door.  Jethro did not appear to take any notice of their departure.

“Janet,” said Mrs. Duncan, “I think Senator and Mrs. Meade must have gone to our sitting room.”  Then, to Cynthia’s surprise, the lady took her by the hand.  “I can’t imagine what you’ve done, my dear,” she said pleasantly, “but I believe that you are capable of taking care of yourself, and I like you.”

Thus it will be seen that Mrs. Duncan was an independent person.  Sometimes heiresses are apt to be.

“And I like you, too,” said Janet, taking both of Cynthia’s hands, “and I hope to see you very, very often.”

Jethro looked after them.

“Er—­the women folks seem to have some sense,” he said.  Then he turned to Cynthia.  “B-be’n havin’ some fun with Heth, Cynthy?” he inquired.

“I haven’t any respect for Mr. Sutton,” said Cynthia, indignantly; “it serves him right for presuming to think that he could give a post-office to any one.”

Jethro made no remark concerning this presumption on the part of the congressman of the district.  Cynthia’s indignation against Mr. Sutton was very real, and it was some time before she could compose herself sufficiently to tell Jethro what had happened.  His enjoyment as he listened may be imagined but presently he forgot this, and became aware that something really troubled her.

“Uncle Jethro,” she asked suddenly, “why do they treat me as they do?”

He did not answer at once.  This was because of a pain around his heart—­had she known it.  He had felt that pain before.

“H-how do they treat you, Cynthy?”

She hesitated.  She had not yet learned to use the word patronize in the social sense, and she was at a loss to describe the attitude of Mrs. Duncan and her daughter, though her instinct had registered it.  She was at a loss to account for Mr. Worthington’s attitude, too.  Mr. Sutton’s she bitterly resented.

“Are they your enemies?” she demanded.

Jethro was in real distress.