"Oh, back in the early nineties. The quarrel was most acrimonious, particularly on Carew's side. He must have realized that he had not acted fairly to his old friend. As long as he had assumed Winthrop's debts it seemed only right that he should return the money owing to Lane. Public opinion was with the latter." "Perhaps at that time he may not have had the ten thousand," suggested Eleanor. "I have always heard and believed the Senator an honorable man; and certainly it was good of him to shoulder any of his brother-in-law's debts." "He only did it to protect his sister, who was left penniless, and quiet scandal." "Mrs. Winthrop penniless! Why, how comes it, Cousin Kate, that she lives as she does." "Senator Carew gave her a large allowance. He always said that Cynthia should inherit his fortune." "I never knew until the other day that Philip Winthrop was not Mrs. Winthrop's son." "She adopted him legally, I believe, at the time of her husband's death, and persuaded her brother, the Senator, to have him brought up as one of the family. Philip Winthrop's first wife was a South American, I am told. I never saw her, as she died before he came to Washington. Mercy on us!" glancing at the clock, "I had no idea it was so late." She rose and started for the door. "How did you leave Cynthia?" "Sound asleep, thank Heaven!" "Did she and Fred Lane patch up their quarrel?" "I am afraid not." Eleanor kissed her cousin a warm good night, and watched her cross the wide hall to her bedroom, then closed and locked her own door and hastened to complete her undressing. About three in the morning Cynthia awoke and lay for a few minutes, bewildered by her surroundings. Then recollection returned to her with a rush, and she sank back among her pillows with a half-strangled sob. Slowly she reviewed her interview with Fred, trying to find some solace; but she could discover none, and with a moan turned on her side and buried her face in the pillow. Their romance had promised so much, but, instead, her happiness had been nipped in the bud. She raised her hot face and glanced about, looking for a glass of water, for she was parched with thirst. Eleanor had forgotten, apparently, to place any drinking water in the room. Cynthia sat up and gazed eagerly around by the aid of the night light, but she could discover no glass on either the chiffonier or bureau. She was on the point of lying down again when she remembered having seen a pitcher of ice water on a table near the head of the stairs. She started to ring the brass bell, but decided it would be cruel to call Eleanor, who had been up with her most of the night. She pondered a moment, but she was growing more thirsty, and, after a few minutes of indecision, she climbed out of the huge four-poster and, slipping on a wrapper and bedroom slippers, stole out of her room and down the hall in the direction of the stairs.