For at times he drew glowing pictures of the house that he intended to build for Cynthia some day. Cynthia used to smile and listen very sweetly. She never contradicted him; she only grew a little abstracted now and then when he waxed very eloquent, and drew the needle a little faster through the work that she now affected. He did not usually seem to notice her silence; but on this occasion he broke out rather petulantly. "One would think you took no interest in it at all! You might sometimes remember that it's all for you." "I do remember it, father dear--and I am very grateful." "Well, then," said Westwood, at once restored to cheerfulness, "just you look here at these plans. I've been talking to an architect, and this is the drawing he's made for me. Nice mansion that, isn't it? You see, there's the ground-floor--a study for me, and a drawing-room and a morning-room, and all sorts of things for you; and here's a wing which can be added on or not, as is required. Because," he went on rather quickly and nervously, "if you was to marry out there, you could set up house-keeping with him, you know; and, when the family grew too large for the house, we could just add room after room--here, you see--until we had enough." "Yes, father." And then Cynthia added with simplicity, which was perhaps a little assumed. "Miss Enid Vane says that Hubert will be ordered to the Riviera for the winter when--when he is free." "What has that to do with it?" said Westwood, rolling up his plans and moving a few steps away from her. "Only that perhaps we had better not think too much about the house, father. We might not be able to come to it." "Oh, that's it, is it?" her father said slowly. "You're still thinking of Mr. Lepel, Cynthia?" "Yes, father dear." "You mean to marry the man that would have seen me hang and never said a word to save me?" "He would not have done that, you know, father. He spoke out at last, in order to save you from being rearrested. And you gave me your consent before----" "Ay, before I knew that he had done the deed! I thought that his sister had done it, and that he was keeping her secret, when I gave my consent, my girl. It makes a deal of difference." "Not to me," said Cynthia quietly. "He did wrong; but I learned to love him before I knew the story; and I can't leave off loving him now." Westwood sat down and began rapping the table with his roll of plans in a meditative manner. "Women are curious folk," he said at last. "When a man's prosperous, they nag at him and make his life a weariness to him; but, when he's in trouble, they can't be too faithful nor too fond. It's awkward sometimes." "But it's their nature, you see, father," said Cynthia, smiling a little as she folded up her work.