"I could not have borne it! I do not know how to put up with insult and contempt. I feel that I hate all the world when it treats me in that way. I never could be meek and good like other girls. I don't mean that I want to be wicked--I hope I am not wicked--but, if you had failed me, I think that I should have gone straight away to London Bridge and thrown myself into the river--for I should have had no hope left." "My dear girl," said Hubert, rather gravely, "with that voice of yours you would have been very wrong to feel so easily discouraged." "Oh, what would the voice matter if I could get nobody to listen to it?" cried Cynthia, with fiery scorn. "I may have a fortune in my voice, but how will the fortune benefit me if I can't have it for the next five or ten years, and am starving in the meantime? I could not have stayed more than a few days at Mrs. Wadsley's, as I had no money, and was not likely to earn any. If I was turned out, where was I to go? It is winter now, not summer, as it was when I slept in the Park four years ago, and dear old Lalli found me crying on the steps. A night out of doors in this weather would not leave me much voice to sing with, I fancy! No; I had made up my mind, Mr. Lepel--if you would not listen to me, I would go to London Bridge. If you think me wicked, I can't help it; it was my last resource." With her cheeks flaming, her eyes gleaming beneath her black brows, it was plain that she was dominated by passion of no common strength, by will and pride which made it well-nigh impossible for her to lead an ordinary woman's life. Hubert looked at her, stupefied, fascinated by her beauty; he was penetrated by an admiration that he had never felt for a woman in all his life before. And she was a mere girl yet! He knew that she would be ten times more beautiful in a few years' time. "You were right to come to me," he murmured, scarcely knowing what he said as he gazed into the depths of the lustrous dark eyes. "You need have no fear--you will succeed." Cynthia drew a long breath. Her attitude changed a little; limbs and features seemed to relax, the color died slowly out of her flushed cheeks. "You mean," she said, in a lower voice, "that you do not think, after all, that I was very wrong--bold, unwomanly, I mean--to speak to you, when I did not know you, in the street last night?" "Certainly not." "I had no claim on you, I know," proceeded the girl, the light of excitement fading out of her face, and the perfect mouth beginning to quiver as she spoke. "It was only a fancy of mine that, as you had seemed to understand so well how dreadful it was to be alone--alone in this great terrible London--you would hold out a helping hand to a girl who only wanted work--just enough to gain her daily bread." She sobbed a little, and put her hand over her eyes.