him, after the fashion of women with those they love,
but inexorably determined that he should keep his word. For she had a
strong sense of honor and honesty, and she could not bear to think that
he could be false to anyone who trusted him. It was weighing heavily on
her own conscience that she had deceived him once.

Hubert left her with his senses in a whirl. He knew, as he said, that he
had been weak; but Cynthia's beauty intoxicated him. But for her
determination, her courage, he would have failed to keep up even the
appearance of faith with Enid--he would have been utterly careless of
Enid's trust in him. But this declension Cynthia was resolved not to
permit. It was strange to see what nobleness of mind and generosity of
feeling existed beneath her light and careless demeanor; and while these
characteristics humiliated her lover, they filled him with genuine pride
and admiration. She was not a woman to be lightly wooed and lightly won;
she was worthy of respect, even of reverence. And, as he thought of her,
his heart burned with anger against the innocent girl at Beechfield who
had dared to speak of this noble woman with something very like
contempt.

Cynthia was glad that she had no public engagement for that evening. She
was invited to go with Madame della Scala to a large party; but she
pleaded a headache, and begged to be allowed to stay at home. Madame
scolded her playfully, but did not oppose her whim; she was sufficiently
proud of her pupil and housemate to let her take her own way--a
practical compliment for which Cynthia was grateful.

When the old lady had gone, Cynthia returned to her favorite
rose-lighted sitting-room, and sank somewhat languidly into a
lounging-chair. She had forbidden Hubert to return to her that
night--she had said that she wanted to be alone; and now she was half
inclined to repent her own peremptoriness. "I might have let him come
just once," she said to herself. "I shall not allow him to come often,
or to be anything but a friend to me; but I feel lonely to-night. It is
foolish of me to be depressed. A month ago I should have thought myself
happy indeed if I could have known that he loved me; and now I am more
miserable than ever. I suppose it is the thought of that other
girl--mean, jealous, miserable wretch that I am! But I will not be mean
or jealous any longer. He has promised himself to her, and he shall keep
his word."

She was startled from these reflections by the so