Mr. Worthington coughed. Mr. Flint had told him, that very morning, of her separation from Jethro, and of the reasons which people believed had caused it. Unfortunately, we have not time to go into that conversation with Mr. Flint, who had given a very good account of Cynthia indeed. After all (Mr. Worthington reflected), he had consented to the marriage, and there was no use in bringing Jethro's name into the conversation. Jethro would be forgotten soon. “I will not deny to You that I had other plans for my son,” he said. “I had hoped that he would marry a daughter of a friend of mine. You must be a little indulgent with parents, Cynthia,” he added with a little smile, “we have our castles in the air, too. Sometimes, as in this case, by a wise provision of providence they go astray. I suppose you have heard of Miss Duncan's marriage.” “No,” said Cynthia. “She ran off with a worthless Italian nobleman. I believe, on the whole,” he said, with what was an extreme complaisance for the first citizen, “that I have reason to congratulate myself upon Robert's choice. I have made inquiries about you, and I find that I have had the pleasure of knowing your mother, whom I respected very much. And your father, I understand, came of very good people, and was forced by circumstances to adopt the means of livelihood he did. My attention has been called to the letters he wrote to the Guardian, which I hear have been highly praised by competent critics, and I have ordered a set of them for the files of the library. You yourself, I find, are highly thought of in Brampton” (a, not unimportant factor, by the way); “you have been splendidly educated, and are a lady. In short, Cynthia, I have come to give my formal consent to your engagement to my son Robert.” “But I am not engaged to him,” said Cynthia. “He will be here shortly, I imagine,” said Mr. Worthington. Cynthia was trembling more than ever by this time. She was very angry, and she had found it very difficult to repress the things which she had been impelled to speak. She did not hate Isaac Worthington now--she despised him. He had not dared to mention Jethro, who had been her benefactor, though he had done his best to have her removed from the school because of her connection with Jethro. “Mr. Worthington,” she said, “I have not yet made up my mind whether I shall marry your son.” To say that Mr. Worthington's breath was taken away when he heard these words would be to use a mild expression. He doubted his senses. “What?” he exclaimed, starting forward, “what do you mean?” Cynthia hesitated a moment. She was not frightened, but she was trying to choose her words without passion.