"You are Miss West," she said—"Cynthia West?"
"Cynthia Westwood," replied the girl, and looked sorrowfully yet proudly into Enid's eyes.
Her face was flushed, but Enid's had turned pale.
"Will you stay and speak to me for a minute or two? I see that you were going out——"
"It does not matter; I need not go," said Cynthia, removing her hat and laying it carelessly on one of the tables. "If you want to speak to me——"
Neither of them concluded her sentence. Each was conscious of great embarrassment.
For once in her life, Cynthia stood like a culprit; for she thought that Enid loved Hubert Lepel, and that she—Cynthia—had withdrawn him from his allegiance. It was Enid who broke the silence.
"I wanted to see you," she said. "I came to see you more than to see Hubert. I heard you were here."
Cynthia looked up quickly.
"You heard Mrs. Vane's opinion of me, I suppose?" It was bitterly spoken.