"He's tried to make you believe so for his own ends, no doubt. But he means to marry the other girl, my dear—they told me so at Beechfield. They say he worships the very ground she treads upon; and she the same with him. Being fond of you was only a blind to lead you to your destruction, I'm afraid, my poor pretty dear!"
Cynthia shrank a little as she heard. Could this be true?
"The girl lives down there then, does she?" she asked, in a strange hard voice not like her own.
"Yes, my dear. He would not be able to break off there without a tremendous to-do, I'll warrant you; for the girl is the General's niece, the daughter of Mr. Sydney Vane—the Miss Enid you spoke about just now."
As he got no answer, he turned to look at her, and found that she was deadly white; but, when she noticed that he was looking at her, she smiled and passed her hand reassuringly within his arm.
"You make my task all the easier for me, father," she said; "I shall know what to do now. And I think that it is about time for me to go home."
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Cynthia had already despatched a little note to Hubert asking him to visit her at a certain hour that afternoon—hence the certainty with which she spoke of his visit to her father. After what had passed between them, she did not think that he would fail to come.
She wanted him at half-past five precisely, because at that hour Madame had promised to go for a drive in the Park with one of her most fashionable pupils and her friends, and Cynthia knew that she could then see him alone. And she was right in thinking that he would come. Just as the half-hour struck, Hubert knocked at Madame della Scala's door, and was immediately ushered into a tiny little room on the ground-floor which was always called "Miss West's parlor," and which contained little furniture except a piano and table and a couple of chairs. It was here that Cynthia practised and studied, and sat when she wanted to be alone. Two or three photographs of the heads of great singers and musicians were the sole decorations of the walls; a pile of music and some books lay on the table. The place had a severely business-like air; and yet its very simplicity and the sombreness of its tints had hitherto always given Hubert, who knew the room, a sense of pleasure. But he knitted his brows when he was taken to it on this occasion. It seemed to him that Cynthia wanted to give her interview with him also a business-like character. But perhaps, he reflected, it was only that she wanted a peculiarly confidential talk.