She raised her eyes, and they were full of tears.
"It is of no use trying to speak lightly about it," she said. "I may as well tell you that it is a very important matter, Hubert. I sent for you to-day to tell you that we must part."
"Nonsense, Cynthia!"
"We must indeed! The worst is that we might have avoided all this trouble—this misery—if I had been candid and open with you from the first. If I had told you all about myself, you would perhaps never have helped me—or at least—for I won't say that exactly—you would have helped me from a distance, and never cared to see me or speak to me at all."
"Of course you know that you are talking riddles, Cynthia."
"Yes, I know. But you will understand in a minute or two. I only want to say, first, that I had no idea who—who you were."
"Who I am, dear? Myself, Hubert Lepel, and nobody else."
"And cousin"—she brought the words out with difficulty—"cousin to the Vanes of Beechfield."
"Well, what objection have you to the Vanes of Beechfield?"
"They have the right to object to me; and so have you. Do you remember the evening when I spoke to you in the street outside the theatre? Did it never cross your mind that you had seen and spoken to me before? You asked me once if I knew a girl called Jane Wood. Now don't you remember me? Now don't you know my name?"