Aching! Cynthia repeated the word, and
remembered the glimpse she had had of him in the dining room with Miss
Janet Duncan. "Whenever I have been free" (Cynthia repeated this also,
somewhat ironically, although she conceded it the merit of frankness),
"Whenever I have been free, I have haunted the corridors for a sight
of you. Think of me as haunting the hotel desk for an answer to this,
telling me when I can see you--and where. P.S. I shall be around all
evening." And it was signed, "Your friend and playmate, R. Worthington."

It is a fact--not generally known--that Cynthia did answer the
letter--twice. But she sent neither answer. Even at that age she was
given to reflection, and much as she may have approved of the spirit of
the letter, she liked the tone of it less. Cynthia did not know a great
deal of the world, it is true, but the felt instinctively that something
was wrong when Bob resorted to such means of communication. And she
was positively relieved, or thought that she was, when she went down to
supper and discovered that the table in the corner was empty.

After supper Ephraim had his letter to write, and Jethro wished to sit
in the corridor. But Cynthia had learned that the corridor was not the
place for a girl, so she explained--to Jethro that he would find her in
the parlor if he wanted her, and that she was going there to read. That
parlor Cynthia thought a handsome room, with its high windows and lace
curtains, its long mirrors and marble-topped tables. She established
herself under a light, on a sofa in one corner, and sat, with the book
on her lap watching the people who came and went. She had that delicious
sensation which comes to the young when they first travel--the sensation
of being a part of the great world; and she wished that she knew these
people, and which were the great, and which the little ones. Some of
them looked at her intently, she thought too intently, and at such
times she pretended to read. She was aroused by hearing some one
saying:--"Isn't this Miss Wetherell?"

Cynthia looked up and caught her breath, for the young lady who
had spoken was none other than Miss Janet Duncan herself. Seen thus
startlingly at close range, Miss Duncan was not at all like what Cynthia
had expected--but then most people are not. Janet Duncan was, in fact,
one of those strange persons who do not realize the picture which their
names summon up. She was undoubtedly good-looking; her hair, of a
more go