le bitter when Cynthia
spoke of his father, and he tried to think instead what his mother would
have him do. He could not, indeed, speak of Mr. Worthington's
shortcomings as he understood them, but he answered Cynthia vigorously
enough--even if his words were not as serious as she desired.

"I tell you I am old enough to judge for myself, Cynthia," said he, "and
I intend to judge for myself. I don't pretend to be a paragon of virtue,
but I have a kind of a conscience which tells me when I am doing wrong,
if I listen to it. I have not always listened to it. It tells me I'm
doing right now, and I mean to listen to it."

Cynthia could not but think there was very little self-denial attached to
this. Men are not given largely to self-denial.

"It is easy enough to listen to your conscience when you think it impels
you to do that which you want to do, Bob," she answered, laughing at his
argument in spite of herself.

"Are you wicked?" he demanded abruptly.

"Why, no, I don't think I am," said Cynthia, taken aback. But she
corrected herself swiftly, perceiving his bent. "I should be doing wrong
to let you come here."

He ignored the qualification.

"Are you vain and frivolous?"

She remembered that she had looked in the glass before she had come down
to him, and bit her lip.

"Are you given over to idle pursuits, to leading young men from their
occupations and duties?"

"If you've come here to recite the Blue Laws," said she, laughing again,
"I have something better to do than to listen to them."

"Cynthia," he cried, "I'll tell you what you are. I'll draw your
character for you, and then, if you can give me one good reason why I
should not associate with you, I'll go away and never come back."

"That's all very well," said Cynthia, "but suppose I don't admit your
qualifications for drawing my character. And I don't admit them, not for
a minute."

"I will draw it," said he, standing up in front of her. "Oh, confound
it!"

This exclamation, astonishing and out of place as it was, was caused by a
ring at the doorbell. The ring was followed by a whispering and giggling
in the hall, and then by the entrance of the Misses Merrill into the
parlor. Curiosity had been too strong for them. Susan was human, and here
was the opportunity for a little revenge. In justice to her, she meant
the revenge to be very slight.

"Well, Cynthia, you should have come to the concert," she said; "it was
fine, wasn't it, Jane? Is th