nthia
brooded over these possibilities until sleep fled from her eyes and the
color from her cheeks. Her father looked at her now and then with
anxious, grieving eyes; but he did not say a word. She noticed however
that he greatly advocated the good qualities of a fine young Scotchman
called MacPhail, who had lately settled on an estate in the
neighborhood, and had shown a great inclination for Cynthia's society.
Westwood was never tired of praising his good looks, his manly ways, his
abilities, and his intelligence, and of calculating openly, in his
daughter's hearing, the amount of wealth of which he was sure MacPhail
was possessed. Cynthia grew impatient of these praises before long.

"Dear father," she said, taking his grizzled head between her hands one
day and kissing it, "I like your Mr. MacPhail very well; but I shall get
tired of him very soon if you are always praising him so much."

"But you do like him, Cynthy?" said her father, turning round hastily.

"Oh, yes--I think that he is a very estimable young man! I know all his
good points by heart; but I can't say that I find him interesting."

"Interesting?" echoed Westwood. "What do you mean, Cynthy? Isn't he
clever enough for you?"

"He is clever enough for anybody, no doubt," said Cynthia, with a little
laugh. "But he never reads, he never thinks--except about his stock--and
he isn't even a gentleman."

"Neither am I, Cynthia, my dear," said her father sorrowfully.

"You, you darling old man," said the girl lightly--"as if you were not
one of Nature's gentlemen, and the dearest and noblest of men to boot!
If he were like you, father, I should think twice as much of him;" and
she put her arm round his neck and kissed him.

Westwood's face beamed.

"You're not ashamed of your old father?" he said delightedly. "Bless
you, my girl! What I shall do when the time comes for me to lose you,
I'm sure I don't know!"

"You are not likely to lose me father. I shall probably stay with you
always," said Cynthia rather sadly. But she brightened up when she saw
his questioning face. "You and I shall always keep house together, shall
we not?"

"Don't you think, Cynthia," said he, detaining her as she was about to
move away, "that we might take MacPhail into partnership some of these
days?"

"Partnership?" she repeated, not seeing his drift at first. "What do
you want with a partner, father? Is there too much for you to do? Or
haven't you enough capital? Why sh