‘Yes!  I’ll promise not to tell.  You should not have doubted me,’ said Molly, still a little sorrowfully.

‘Very well.  I trust to you.  I know I may.’

‘But do think of telling papa, and getting him to help you,’ persevered Molly.

‘Never,’ said Cynthia resolutely, but more quietly than before.  ’Do you think I forget what he said at the time of that wretched Mr Coxe; how severe he was, and how long I was in disgrace, if indeed I’m out of it now?  I am one of those people, as mamma says sometimes—­I cannot live with persons who don’t think well of me.  It may be a weakness, or a sin, I am sure I don’t know and I don’t care; but I really cannot be happy in the same house with any one who knows my faults, and thinks that they are greater than my merits.  Now you know your father would do that.  I have often told you that he (and you too, Molly) had a higher standard than I had ever known.  Oh, I could not bear it—­if he were to know he would be so angry with me—­he would never get over it, and I have so liked him!  I do so like him.’

‘Well, never mind, dear; he shall not know,’ said Molly, for Cynthia was again becoming hysterical,—­’at least we’ll say no more about it now.’

‘And you’ll never say any more—­never—­promise me,’ said Cynthia, taking her hand eagerly.

’Never till you give me leave.  Now do let me see if I cannot help you.  Lie down on the bed, and I will sit by you, and let us talk it over.’

But Cypthia sate down again in the chair by the dressing-table.

‘When did it all begin?’ said Molly, after a long pause of silence.

’Long ago—­four or five years.  I was such a child to be left all to myself.  It was the holidays, and mamma was away visiting, and the Donaldsons asked me to go with them to the Worcester Festival.  You can’t fancy how pleasant it all sounded, especially to me.  I had been shut up in that great dreary house at Ashcombe, where mamma had her school; it belonged to Lord Cumnor, and Mr. Preston as his agent had to see it all painted and papered; but besides that he was very intimate with us:  I believe mamma thought—­no, I’m not sure about that, and I have enough blame to lay at her door, to prevent my telling you anything that may be only fancy—­’

Then she paused, and sate still for a minute or two, recalling the past.  Molly was struck by the aged and careworn expression which had taken temporary hold of the brilliant and beautiful face; she could see from that how much Cynthia must have suffered from this hidden trouble of hers.

’Well! at any, rate we were intimate with him, and he came a great deal about the house, and knew as much as any one of mamma’s affairs, and all the ins and outs of her life.  I’m telling you that in order that you may understand how natural it was for me to answer his questions when he came one day and found me, not crying, for you know I’m not much given to that, in spite of to-day’s exposure of myself; but fretting and fuming because, though mamma had written word I might go with the Donaldsons, she had never said how I was to get any money for the journey, much less for anything of dress, and I had outgrown all my last year’s frocks, and as for gloves and boots—­in short, I really had hardly clothes decent enough for church—­’