f Miss Sadler.

"You've got a good many degrees yet to go," he replied.

"I have no idea of doing so," said Cynthia.

If Cynthia had lured him there, and had carefully thought out a plan of
fanning his admiration into a flame, she could not have done better than
to stand obstinately by the door. Nothing appeals to a man like
resistance--resistance for a principle appealed to Bob, although he did
not care a fig about that particular principle. In his former dealings
with young women--and they had not been few--the son of Dudley
Worthington had encountered no resistance worth the mentioning. He looked
at the girl before him, and his blood leaped at the thought of a conquest
over her. She was often demure, but behind that demureness was firmness:
she was mistress of herself, and yet possessed a marvellous vitality.

"And now," said Cynthia, "don't you think you had better go?"

Go! He laughed outright. Never! He would sit down under that fortress,
and some day he meant to scale the walls. Like John Paul Jones, he had
not yet begun to fight. But he did not sit down just yet, because Cynthia
remained standing.

"I'm here now," he said, "what's the good of going away? I might as well
stay the rest of the afternoon."

"You will find a photograph album on the table," said Cynthia, "with
pictures of all the Merrill family and their friends and relations."

In spite of the threat this remark conveyed, he could not help laughing
at it. Mrs. Merrill in her sitting room heard the laugh, and felt that
she would like Bob Worthington.

"It's a heavy album, Cynthia," he said; "perhaps you would hold up one
side of it."

It was Cynthia's turn to laugh. She could not decide whether he were a
man or a boy. Sometimes, she had to admit, he was very much of a man.

"Where are you going?" he cried.

"Upstairs, of course," she answered.

This was really alarming. But fate thrust a final weapon into his hands.

"All right," said he, "I'll look at the album. What time does Mr. Merrill
get home?"

"About six," answered Cynthia. "Why?"

"When he comes," said Bob, "I shall put on my most disconsolate
expression. He'll ask me what I'm doing, and I'll tell him you went
upstairs at half-past four and haven't come down. He'll sympathize, I'll
bet anything."

Whether Bob were really capable of doing this, Cynthia could not tell.
She believed he was. Perhaps she really did not intend to go upstairs
just then. To his intense relief she