that both themes were finished. Susan, naturally indignant at such
ingratitude, denied this. The manoeuvre, in short, was executed very
clumsily and very obviously, but executed nevertheless--the sisters
marching out of the room under a fire of protests. The reader, too, will
no doubt think it a very obvious manoeuvre, but some things are managed
badly in life as well as in books.

Cynthia and Bob were left alone: left, moreover, in mortal terror of
each other. It is comparatively easy to open the door of a room and
rush into a lady's arms if the lady be willing and alone. But to be
abandoned, as Susan had abandoned them, and with such obvious intent,
creates quite a different atmosphere. Bob had dared to hope for such an
opportunity: had made up his mind during supper, while striving to be
agreeable, just what he would do if the opportunity came. Instead, all
he could do was to sit foolishly in his chair and look at the coals, not
so much as venturing to turn his head until the sound of footsteps had
died away on the upper floors. It was Cynthia who broke the silence
and took command--a very different Cynthia from the girl who had thrown
herself on the bed not three hours before. She did not look at him, but
stared with determination into the fire.

"Bob, you must go," she said.

"Go!" he cried. Her voice loosed the fetters of his passion, and he
dared to seize the band that lay on the arm of her chair. She did not
resist this.

"Yes, you must go. You should not have stayed for supper."

"Cynthia," he said, "how can I leave you? I will not leave you."

"But you can and must," she replied.

"Why?" he asked, looking at her in dismay.

"You know the reason," she answered.

"Know it?" he cried. "I know why I should stay. I know that I love you
with my whole heart and soul. I know that I love you as few men have
ever loved--and that you are the one woman among millions who can
inspire such a love."

"No, Bob, no," she said, striving hard to keep her head, withdrawing her
hand that it might not betray the treason of her lips. Aware, strange as
it may seem, of the absurdity of the source of what she was to say, for
a trace of a smile was about her mouth as she gazed at the coals.
"You will get over this. You are not yet out of college, and many such
fancies happen there."

For the moment he was incapable of speaking, incapable of finding an
answer sufficiently emphatic. How was he to tell her of the rocks upon