“Stephen!” exclaimed Mrs. Merrill. But in her heart she thought so, too. “What will Mr. Worthington say when he hears the young man has been coming to our house to see her?” Mr. Merrill had been thinking of that very thing, but with more amusement than concern. To return to Mr. Merrill's house, the three girls and the one young man were seated around the fire, and their talk, Merrill as it had begun, was becoming minute by minute more stilted. This was largely the fault of Susan, who would not be happy until she had taken Jane upstairs and left Mr. Worthington and Cynthia together. This matter had been arranged between the sisters before supper. Susan found her opening at last, and upbraided Jane for her unfinished theme; Jane, having learned her lesson well, accused Susan. But Cynthia, who saw through the ruse, declared that both themes were finished. Susan, naturally indignant at such ingratitude, denied this. The manoeuvre, in short, was executed very clumsily and very obviously, but executed nevertheless--the sisters marching out of the room under a fire of protests. The reader, too, will no doubt think it a very obvious manoeuvre, but some things are managed badly in life as well as in books. Cynthia and Bob were left alone: left, moreover, in mortal terror of each other. It is comparatively easy to open the door of a room and rush into a lady's arms if the lady be willing and alone. But to be abandoned, as Susan had abandoned them, and with such obvious intent, creates quite a different atmosphere. Bob had dared to hope for such an opportunity: had made up his mind during supper, while striving to be agreeable, just what he would do if the opportunity came. Instead, all he could do was to sit foolishly in his chair and look at the coals, not so much as venturing to turn his head until the sound of footsteps had died away on the upper floors. It was Cynthia who broke the silence and took command--a very different Cynthia from the girl who had thrown herself on the bed not three hours before. She did not look at him, but stared with determination into the fire. “Bob, you must go,” she said. “Go!” he cried. Her voice loosed the fetters of his passion, and he dared to seize the band that lay on the arm of her chair. She did not resist this. “Yes, you must go. You should not have stayed for supper.” “Cynthia,” he said, “how can I leave you? I will not leave you.” “But you can and must,” she replied. “Why?” he asked, looking at her in dismay. “You know the reason,” she answered. “Know it?” he cried. “I know why I should stay. I know that I love you with my whole heart and soul. I know that I love you as few men have ever loved--and that you are the one woman among millions who can inspire such a love.”