"I think not. The doctor said that he need not send one so long as Jenkins and I were here."
"And pray how long do you mean to remain here?"
"As long as he has need of me."
"You are under a mistake," said Mrs. Vane loftily. "Mr. Lepel did not send for you, I believe?"
"He called for me in his delirium," answered Cynthia, whose eyes were beginning to be lighted up as if from an inward fire. "He is quiet only when I am here."
Flossy laughed derisively.
"A good reason! Is he not quiet now, with the woman Jenkins at his side? You will perhaps allow that his relatives—his family—have some right to attend to him during his illness; and I must really say very plainly—since you compel me to do so—that I should prefer to see him nursed by a professional nurse, and not by a young girl whose very presence here is a scandal to all propriety."
Cynthia drew herself up to her full height.
"I think I can scarcely understand you," she said. "I am acting under the doctor's orders, and am here by his authority. There can be no scandal in that. When Mr. Lepel is conscious and can spare me, I will go."
"Spare you! He will be only too glad to spare you!" cried Mrs. Vane. "I do not know what your connection with him has been—I do not want to know"—the insinuation conveyed by her tone and manner was felt by Cynthia to be in itself an insult; "but this I am fully convinced of, that my poor brother could not possibly have known that you were the daughter of that wretched criminal, Andrew Westwood—the man who murdered Sydney Vane! If he had known that, he would never have wished to see your face again!"