"But they are all so troublesome," she interrupted. "And one gets affronted with the other. And if I picked very much I might be called a flirt, perhaps I have been. I didn't want them, only to dance and be merry with, and there are so many pretty girls in the world--enough for all of them." He smiled a little and it gave her a heartache to see how thin he had grown, and there were new creases in his forehead that had been so fair and smooth. "And if some day you should repent?" "I'm not going to repent. Why should one when one gets the thing one wanted?" There was a touch of the old brightness in her tone. Had she really wanted him? "I've been very naughty with all these lovers, haven't I? But no one came near enough to really ask me that question until last night, though Mr. Marsh thought he would if he were going to stay. And Cousin Chilian, I had made up my mind truly, I thought, for I liked Mr. Saltonstall very much, and it seemed to me you wanted me to----" Her voice died away in pathos. "I did. Oh, you must know the worst of me. When I found you were growing into my very heart, and I began to feel jealous of the young men, I took myself in hand as a most reprehensible old fellow. But I found you had entwined yourself in every fibre of my heart, and it was hard indeed to uproot you." "And you really tried?" Her tone was upbraiding. "I tried like an honest, upright man. I shall never be ashamed of the effort. I would not mar or spoil your life. You see you might have loved some of these brave young lads. You might have been very happy with them." "Oh, you can't have but one husband;" in laughing gayety. He flushed at her mischief. "I wonder when you began to love me? And what has made you so cold and distant, as if you were taking your affection away?" "I was--I was--Heaven forgive me! I was learning to live without you; to go back to a life more solitary than it was before you came. And, Cynthia, you were not altogether a welcome guest. I did not know what to do with a little girl. I was set in my ways. I did not like to be disturbed. I could have sent a boy off to school. And Elizabeth thought it a trouble, too. You must read your father's letter and see the trust he reposed in me. But you were such a strange, shy little thing, and so delicate in all your ways. You never touched an article without permission, you handled books so gently, you never made dog's-ears, or crumpled a page. And that winter you were ill--and the faith you had in his return. How many times my heart ached for you. After that I could not have given you up, and I fell into a sort of belief that it would go on this always. When the lovers began to come, I found I must awake from my delusion. And then I knew that an oldish fellow could love a sweet girl in her first bloom, but that it would be a selfish, unpardonable thing." "Not if she loved him!" She raised her face in all its sweet bravery of color.