“Not even Cassandra Hopkins?” Cynthia could not resist saying.  She saw that she had scored; his expressions registered his sensations so accurately.

“What do you know about her?” he said.

“Oh,” said Cynthia, mysteriously, “I heard that you were very fond of her at Andover.”

Bob could not help pluming himself a little.  He thought the fact that she had mentioned the matter a flaw in Cynthia’s armor, as indeed it was.  And yet he was not proud of the Cassandra Hopkins episode in his career.

“Cassandra is one of the institutions at Andover,” said he; “most fellows have to take a course in Cassandra to complete their education.”

“Yours seems to be very complete,” Cynthia retorted.

“Great Scott!” he exclaimed, looking at her, “no wonder you made mince-meat of the Honorable Heth.  Where did you learn it all, Cynthia?”

Cynthia did not know.  She merely wondered where she would be if she hadn’t learned it.  Something told her that if it were not for this anchor she would be drifting out to sea:  might, indeed, soon be drifting out to sea in spite of it.  It was one thing for Mr. Robert Worthington, with his numerous resources, to amuse himself with a girl in her position; it would be quite another thing for the girl.  She got to her feet and held out her hand to him.

“Good-by,” she said.

“Good-by?”

“We are leaving Washington at one o’clock, and Uncle Jethro will be worried if I am not in time for dinner.”

“Leaving at one!  That’s the worst luck I’ve had yet.  But I’m going back to the hotel myself.”

Cynthia didn’t see how she was to prevent him walking with her.  She would not have admitted to herself that she had enjoyed this encounter, since she was trying so hard not to enjoy it.  So they started together out of the park.  Bob, for a wonder, was silent awhile, glancing now and then at her profile.  He knew that he had a great deal to say, but he couldn’t decide exactly what it was to be.  This is often the case with young men in his state of mind:  in fact, to be paradoxical again, he might hardly be said at this time to have had a state of mind.  He lacked both an attitude and a policy.

“If you see Duncan before I do, let me know,” he remarked finally.

Cynthia bit her lip.  “Why should I?” she asked.

“Because we’ve only got five minutes more alone together, at best.  If we see him in time, we can go down a side street.”

“I think it would be hard to get away from Mr. Duncan if we met him—­even if we wanted to,” she said, laughing outright.

“You don’t know how true that is,” he replied, with feeling.

“That sounds as though you’d tried it before.”

He paid no attention to this thrust.

“I shan’t see you again till I get to Brampton,” he said; “that will be a whole week.  And then,” he ventured to look at her, “I shan’t see you until the Christmas holidays.  You might be a little kind, Cynthia.  You know I’ve—­I’ve always thought the world of you.  I don’t know how I’m going to get through the three months without seeing you.”