anted him at half-past five precisely, because at that hour Madame
had promised to go for a drive in the Park with one of her most
fashionable pupils and her friends, and Cynthia knew that she could then
see him alone. And she was right in thinking that he would come. Just as
the half-hour struck, Hubert knocked at Madame della Scala's door, and
was immediately ushered into a tiny little room on the ground-floor
which was always called "Miss West's parlor," and which contained little
furniture except a piano and table and a couple of chairs. It was here
that Cynthia practised and studied, and sat when she wanted to be alone.
Two or three photographs of the heads of great singers and musicians
were the sole decorations of the walls; a pile of music and some books
lay on the table. The place had a severely business-like air; and yet
its very simplicity and the sombreness of its tints had hitherto always
given Hubert, who knew the room, a sense of pleasure. But he knitted his
brows when he was taken to it on this occasion. It seemed to him that
Cynthia wanted to give her interview with him also a business-like
character. But perhaps, he reflected, it was only that she wanted a
peculiarly confidential talk.

He looked at her a little anxiously when she came in, and was rather
puzzled by her face. She was pale, and she had been crying, for her
eyelids were red; but she gave him a peculiarly sweet and winning smile,
and there was a pleading softness in the lovely eyes under the wet
lashes which melted his heart to her at once, although she offered him
her hand only and would not allow him to kiss her cheek.

"What--not one kiss for me this afternoon? I thought I was forgiven!" he
said reproachfully.

"It is I who want forgiveness," she answered, "for being so bad-tempered
and cross and rude last night."

"Take my forgiveness then," said Hubert almost gaily in his relief at
hearing the sweetness of her voice--"and take it in this form."

He would not be denied; and Cynthia had no heart to struggle. She let
him enfold her in his arms for a moment, and press a dozen kisses on her
lips and cheek; then she drew herself away. He felt the movement;
although he did not let her go.

"My dearest, you do not speak naturally--and you want to get away from
me. What does this mean?"

"I don't know that I exactly want to get away from you," said Cynthia,
smiling; "but I think that perhaps I must."

The smile was a very woeful littl