funny about it," replied Cynthia, smiling too.
"Why shouldn't I be? I should like it."

"You were made for something different," he answered quietly.

It was a subject she did not choose to discuss with him, and dropped her
lashes before the plainly spoken admiration in his eyes. So a silence
fell between them, broken only by the ticking of the agate clock on the
mantel and the music of sleigh-bells in a distant street. Presently the
sleigh-bells died away, and it seemed to Cynthia that the sound of her
own heartbeats must be louder than the ticking of the clock. Her tact
had suddenly deserted her; without reason, and she did not dare to
glance again at Bob as he sat under the lamp. That minute--for it was
a full minute--was charged with a presage which she could not grasp.
Cynthia's instincts were very keen. She understood, of course, that he
had cut short his holiday to come to see her, and she might have dealt
with him had that been all. But--through that sixth sense with which
some women are endowed--she knew that something troubled him. He, too,
had never yet been at a loss for words.

The silence forced him to speak first, and he tried to restore the light
tone to the conversation.

"Cousin Ephraim gave me a piece of news," he said. "Ezra Graves got it,
too. He told us you were down in Boston at a fashionable school. Cousin
Ephraim knows a thing or two. He says he always callated you were cut
out for a fine lady."

"Bob," said Cynthia, nerving herself for the ordeal, "did you tell
Cousin Ephraim you had seen me?"

"I told him and Ezra that I had been a constant and welcome visitor at
this house."

"Did, you tell your father that you had seen me?"

This was too serious a question to avoid.

"No, I did not. There was no reason why I should have."

"There was every reason," said Cynthia, "and you know it. Did you tell
him why you came to Boston to-day?"

"No."

"Why does he think you came?"

"He doesn't think anything about it," said Bob. "He went off to Chicago
yesterday to attend a meeting of the board of directors of a western
railroad."

"And so," she said reproachfully, "you slipped off as soon as his back
was turned. I would not have believed that of you, Bob. Do you think
that was fair to him or me?"

Bob Worthington sprang to his feet and stood over her. She had spoken to
a boy, but she had aroused a man, and she felt an amazing thrill at the
result. The muscles in his face tightened, and