The theory did credit to Reuben Westwood's imagination; but it was a mistaken one. At present, however, it seemed sufficiently credible to give Cynthia much cause for reflection. She did not speak. Westwood gave his knee a sudden stroke with one hand, expressive of growing amazement, as he also meditated on the matter.
"And then for her to go and marry the old man—Sydney Vane's brother! It beats all that I ever heard of! She must have got nerves of steel and muscles of iron; she must be the boldest, hardest liar that ever trod this earth. If I thought that all women was like her, Cynthia, I would go to the devil at once! But I've known two good ones in my time, I reckon—your mother and you—and that should p'r'aps be enough for any man. Yes, she's married and got a child—a little lad that'll have the estate and prevent the girl from coming to her own—at least, what would have been her own if there had been no boy."
"You mean Miss Enid Vane?" said Cynthia, again with a curious softening of the eyes.
"Yes, some outlandish name of that sort—'Enid,' is it? Well, you know better than I. I'm glad you're breaking it off with that man Lepel, Cynthia, for more reasons than one."
Cynthia hardly noticed the significance of his tone or the conjunction of the two names in his remarks. She had something else in her mind which she was anxious to have said.
"Father, I am to see Mr. Lepel this afternoon."
"Yes, my girl?"
"And I want to say good-bye to him for ever."
Westwood nodded; he was well pleased with her decision.
"And then I will go to America with you whenever you please. But one thing I want you to allow me to do."