"What else can I do?"
"Marry!" said Mr. Benoliel.
Cynthia rose petulantly to her feet.
"No," she cried. "That I won't do." She turned away and looked out into the street, a storm of rebellion at her heart. Why should every one want to marry her off? Even her friend, her adviser, who should have stood by her, had turned, it seemed, against her. She came back to Mr. Benoliel, but he stood with so distressful a countenance that her indignation died away, and with a pretty compunction she made her apology:
"I know that you are thinking of me. I am sorry if I seemed to forget it. Forgive me! But you can't really want me to marry just so that I may not be alone."
"My dear," said Mr. Benoliel gently, "It's a very good reason."
Cynthia shook her head.
"For a girl?--I am little more. No. I may come to that belief in the end when I am older. But not yet. I must have a better reason now. There are too many years ahead of me."
Mr. Benoliel smiled, with a little wistfulness in the smile.
"Dreams, Cynthia, dreams," he said.