Mr. Browne stood between her and the door and looked at her rather fixedly.  Then he said:—­“Excuse me.”

A great many friendships, and even love affairs, have been inaugurated by just such an opening.

“Certainly,” said Cynthia, and tried to pass out.  But Mr. Browne had no intention of allowing her to do so if he could help it.

“I hope I am not intruding,” he said politely.

“Oh, no,” answered Cynthia, wondering how she could get by him.

“Were you waiting for Miss Merrill?”

“Oh, no,” said Cynthia again.

The other young man turned his back and became absorbed in the picture of a lion getting ready to tear a lady to pieces.  But Mr. Browne was of that mettle which is not easily baffled in such matters.  He introduced himself, and desired to know whom he had the honor of addressing.  Cynthia could not but enlighten him.  Mr. Browne was greatly astonished, and showed it.

“So you are the mysterious young lady who has been staying here in the house this winter,” he exclaimed, as though it were a marvellous thing.  “I have heard Miss Merrill speak of you.  She admires you very much.  Is it true that you come from—­Coniston?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Let me see—­where is Coniston?” inquired Mr. Browne.

“Do you know where Brampton is?” asked Cynthia.  “Coniston is near Brampton.”

“Brampton!” exclaimed Mr. Browne, “I have a classmate who comes from Brampton—­Bob Worthington—­You must know Bob, then.”

Yes, Cynthia knew Mr. Worthington.

“His father’s got a mint of money, they say.  I’ve been told that old Worthington was the whole show up in those parts.  Is that true?”

“Not quite,” said Cynthia.

Not quite!  Mr. Morton Browne eyed her in surprise, and from that moment she began to have decided possibilities.  Just then Jane and Susan entered arrayed for the walk, but Mr. Browne showed himself in no hurry to depart:  began to speak, indeed, in a deprecating way about the weather, appealed to his friend, Mr. King, if it didn’t look remarkably like rain, or hail, or snow.  Susan sat down, Jane sat down, Mr. Browne and his friend prepared to sit down when Cynthia moved toward the door.

“You’re not going, Cynthia!” cried Susan, in a voice that may have had a little too much eagerness in it.  “You must stay and help us entertain Mr. Browne.” (Mr. King, apparently, was not to be entertained.) “We’ve tried so hard to make her come down when people called, Mr. Browne, but she never would.”

Cynthia was not skilled in the art of making excuses.  She hesitated for one, and was lost.  So she sat down, as far from Mr. Browne as possible, next to Jane.  In a few minutes Mr. Browne was seated beside her, and how he accomplished this manoeuvre Cynthia could not have said, so skilfully and gradually was it done.  For lack of a better subject he chose Mr. Robert Worthington.  Related, for Cynthia’s