Thereupon Cinthia related all the events of the evening, from the time she had left home until she bid Mrs. Varian good-night to return in the grand carriage with the handsome master of Idlewild. Clasping her tiny hands, she cried, in an ecstacy: “Oh, aunt, I can’t tell you how I enjoyed it all! Mrs. Varian is as proud and beautiful as a queen; but she was so kind and sweet to me that I felt quite at home in her grand house. As for her son--oh!” and Cinthia paused and blushed divinely. Mrs. Flint snapped, irately: “Now, Cinthia Dawn, don’t you go getting your head turned by idle flatteries from rich young men. Anybody but a silly child would know they don’t mean anything.” “Oh, Aunt Beck, please don’t call me a _child_ any more. I am as grown up as anybody, and you know it--seventeen last April. And--and”--wistfully and defiantly all at once--“he _does_ mean it. He loves me dearly--and--we--are--engaged!” Aunt Beck gave a jump of uncontrollable surprise. “Cinthy Dawn, you don’t mean it?” “Yes, I do, Aunt Beck. I have promised to marry Arthur Varian.” “But, land sakes, _child_--oh, I forgot; well girl, then--you don’t hardly know each other!” “Oh, yes, we do. We have been acquainted some time. We fell in love weeks ago, and--and--he told me in the carriage he loved me and wanted to marry me.” CHAPTER IV. BREAKERS AHEAD. Mrs. Flint was so surprised she could not speak; she could only stare in wonder at the beautiful, excited creature with her happy face. “Oh, aunt, you are not angry, are you? He’s very, very nice, I’m sure--and rich, too! He said my every fancy should be gratified--that he would worship me. You will give your consent, won’t you, because he’s coming here to-morrow morning to ask you.” Mrs. Flint found her voice, and muttered, sarcastically: “A wonder he didn’t ask me to-night! Why didn’t you tell him you would have to get your father’s consent?” “Because papa has deserted me ever since I was small, and cares nothing for me. It is you I’ve had to look for the care of father and mother both. Why, look you, papa has never written me a line all these years! He does not care what becomes of me. And we shall not ask him anything. You are my guardian, and will give us leave to marry, won’t you, dear?” “When, Cinthy?” “Oh, very soon, he said--not later than Christmas, anyway. We don’t want to wait long. You’ll be willing, won’t you?” impetuously. “I don’t know, dear. I’ll have to sleep on it before I make up my mind; you’ve given me such a surprise. Though I don’t say but that it’s a grand match for a girl like you, Cinthy.” “He said I was made for a prince.” “Of course. People in love are silly enough to say anything. But take your candle and go to bed now, Cinthy, and we will talk about this again to-morrow.” “Good-night, aunt,” and she lingered, perhaps hoping for a kindlier word.