e the matter very easy. She had almost a sense of
elation as she stood at the door of Hubert's sitting-room and knocked
her timid little knock, which had to be twice repeated before the door
was opened; and then a tall slight girl in black stood in the doorway
and asked her what she wanted.

"I want to see Mr. Lepel," said Enid, blushing and hesitating.

"Mr. Lepel has been ill." The girl's clear voice had a curious vibration
in it as she spoke. "Do you want to see him particularly?"

Enid took courage and looked at her. The girl wore a black hat; her
dress was severely plain, and her face was pale. Enid thought there was
nothing remarkable about her--therefore that she could not be Cynthia
West.

"I am his cousin," she explained simply, "and my name is Vane--Enid
Vane."

A flash of new expression changed the girl's face at once. Not
remarkable--with those great dark eyes, and the lovely color coming and
going in the oval cheeks! Enid confessed her mistake to herself frankly.
The girl was remarkably handsome--it was a fact that could not be
gainsaid. Enid looked at her gravely, with a little feeling of repulsion
which she found it difficult to help.

"Will you come in?" said Cynthia. "Mr. Lepel is in his room; but he
means to get up this afternoon. If you will kindly wait for a few
moments in his sitting-room, I am sure that he will be with you before
long. I will speak to his man Jenkins."

She had ushered Enid into Hubert's front room, from which the untidiness
had disappeared. His artistic properties were displayed to great
advantage, and every vase was filled with flowers. It was plain that a
woman's hand had been at work.

Enid glanced around her with curiosity. Cynthia pushed a chair towards
her, and waited until the visitor had seated herself. Then, repeating
the words, "I will speak to his man Jenkins," she prepared to leave the
room.

Enid rose from her chair.

"You are Miss West," she said--"Cynthia West?"

"Cynthia Westwood," replied the girl, and looked sorrowfully yet proudly
into Enid's eyes.

Her face was flushed, but Enid's had turned pale.

"Will you stay and speak to me for a minute or two? I see that you were
going out----"

"It does not matter; I need not go," said Cynthia, removing her hat and
laying it carelessly on one of the tables. "If you want to speak to
me----"

Neither of them concluded her sentence. Each was conscious of great
embarrassment.

For once in her life, Cyn