But in that moment the whole bright, sunny world seemed to go under a pall of inky blackness. The birds seemed to cease their singing, the flowers faded and turned to ashes, the last hope, for now she knew that she had always cherished a faint, piteous hope, seemed to die in her heart. She would have liked to shriek aloud in her pain and shame, like one who felt herself falling down, down, down into a bottomless gulf. Now she knew indeed that Arthur’s love had been of little worth. It was dead, dead--or he could never plead with her the cause of another. She felt as if she must faint in the extremity of her agony, but she made a terrible effort to rally her strength and courage, and the next moment she heard her own voice laughing hollowly, like a thing apart from herself. “I have amused you,” Arthur cried. “Yes, very much,” she replied, laughing more and more, as if at some great joke. In fact, she could not stop herself. She was on the border of an hysterical outbreak. But Arthur was deceived by her seeming levity, and suffered a pang of outraged dignity. “I see that you do not take me seriously, though I am very much in earnest,” he exclaimed, stiffly. “So am I,” she answered, trying to subdue herself, and wiping her eyes on a tiny square of lace. With another ripple of laughter, she added, lightly: “I have often heard of match-making mammas, but a match-making cousin is something new, ha! ha! and I am surprised at Fred Foster getting another man to do his courting for him.” “Oh, Cinthia, you have quite misunderstood me!” he cried, in alarm. “Fred has no thought of what I have said to you. He is indeed capable of wooing for himself, and I think he has already told you of his love. Do not, I pray you, be angry at him for my blundering. When I spoke to you I had but one thought in my mind--my great desire to see you happy.” His voice was humble, imploring, but she checked her wild laughter with a strong effort of will, and turned on him the fire of dark, resentful eyes. “How dare you imply that I am unhappy? Can you dream I cling to the dead past still, that I remember it with aught but relief that I escaped you?” imperiously. “Is it so indeed, Cinthia? Then I am rejoiced to hear it, unselfishly glad that I have not spoiled your life. The day may come when you and I, each married to another, may yet become dear friends,” he cried, earnestly, pleadingly. Cinthia felt that indeed she hated him now, but pride rose in arms to mask every emotion. She laughed again and actually held out her hand to him, saying carelessly: “A pleasant prophecy! Let us begin our friendship now.” He took the hand and bent his head over it. She felt a hot, burning tear fall on it as he murmured: “Thank you and bless you Cinthia. We will soon get used to the new role of friendship, and no woman ever found truer friend than I will prove to you.” Then they heard the other two coming, and stopped to wait for them, relieved at the interruption.