"Well, I should be uncomfortable too!" cried Cynthia, bending puzzled and indignant brows at him. "I think you are quite horrid."
Benoliel sustained her indignation unabashed.
"Is that the only reason, Cynthia?" he asked.
"You wanted me married," Cynthia continued. "You ought to be very, very pleased."
Mr. Benoliel, however, was not to be lured from his question into a discussion upon the propriety of his feelings. He repeated it.
"Is fear of gossip the only reason, Cynthia, which makes you keep your engagement secret?"
Cynthia again showed signs of confusion. Mr. Benoliel wore his air of omniscience. She sat down upon a chair.
"What do you mean, Mr. Benoliel?"
"This," said he. "I have noticed that the young ladies who keep their engagements secret are not, as a rule, very much in love with the men they are engaged to. They leave themselves a loop-hole of escape."
Cynthia's cheeks flamed. Certainly she had intended to spare Harry Rames and herself some uncomfortable weeks. But would she have minded those weeks had she cared for him? The question came swiftly, and as swiftly was answered. Had she cared for him she would have wanted to wear him like a ribbon on her breast for all the world to see. She realized it with a pang. She would have run quickly forward to meet the gossip and do battle. But she had not run forward. It was true that she had left herself a pathway of retreat, and rather by instinct than from any deliberate plan. Her wariness had prompted her. Once more she had wanted to be safe. But nothing of this was she going to acknowledge to Mr. Benoliel.