is instant there was the rattle of a latch key at the door, and
Mr. Merrill walked in.

"Well, well," he said, spying Cynthia, "so you have got Cynthia to come
down and entertain the young men at last."

"Yes," said Susan, "we have got Cynthia to come down at last."

Susan did not go to Cynthia's room that night to chat, as usual, and Mr.
Morton Browne's photograph was mysteriously removed from the prominent
position it had occupied. If Susan had carried out a plan which she
conceived in a moment of folly of placing that photograph on Cynthia's
bureau, there would undoubtedly have been a quarrel. Cynthia's
own feelings--seeing that Mr. Browne had not dazzled her--were
not--enviable.

But she held her peace, which indeed was all she could do, and the
next time Mr. Browne called, though he took care to mention her name
particularly at the door, she would not go down to entertain him: though
Susan implored and Jane appealed, she would not go down. Mr. Browne
called several times again, with the same result. Cynthia was
inexorable--she would have none of him. Then Susan forgave her. There
was no quarrel, indeed, but there was a reconciliation, which is the
best part of a quarrel. There were tears, of Susan's shedding; there was
a character-sketch of Mr. Browne, of Susan's drawing, and that gentleman
flitted lightly out of Susan's life.

Some ten days subsequent to this reconciliation Ellen, the parlor maid,
brought up a card to Cynthia's room. The card bore the name of Mr.
Robert Worthington. Cynthia stared at it, and bent it in her fingers,
while Ellen explained how the gentleman had begged that she might see
him. To tell the truth, Cynthia had wondered more than once why he had
not come before, and smiled when she thought of all the assurances of
undying devotion she had heard in Washington. After all, she reflected,
why should she not see him--once? He might give her news of Brampton
and Coniston. Thus willingly deceiving herself, she told Ellen that she
would go down: much to the girl's delight, for Cynthia was a favorite in
the house.

As she entered the parlor Mr. Worthington was standing in the window.
When he turned and saw her he started to come forward in his old
impetuous way, and stopped and looked at her in surprise. She herself
did not grasp the reason for this.

"Can it be possible," he said, "can it be possible that this is my
friend from the country?" And he took her hand with the greatest
formalit