"I don't know. The gardener wouldn't hear that, maybe. He said there'd been a death in the family—some child or other. Would that be General Vane's little boy, do you suppose?"
"It might be."
"Then Miss Vane will be the heiress. She and Mr. Lepel——" He hesitated for a moment, and Cynthia looked up.
"Miss Vane is going to marry Mr. Evandale father. She is not engaged to Mr. Lepel now."
"Oh! Not engaged to Mr. Lepel now? Then what the dickens," said Westwood very deliberately, "did you and Mr. Lepel quarrel about, I should like to know?"
"I can't tell you, father. Nothing to do with that, however."
"I expect it was all a woman's freak. I had made up my mind for you to marry that fellow, Cynthia. I rather liked the looks of him. I'd have given you a thumping dowry and settled him out in America, if you'd liked. It would have been better than the life of a newspaper-man in London any day."
Cynthia did not answer. Her face wore a look of settled misery which made Westwood uncomfortable. He went on doggedly.
"When he gets better, I think I shall go and see him about this. I've no mind to see my girl break her heart before my eyes. You know you're fond of him. Why make such a mystery of it? Marry him, and make him sorry for his misdeeds afterwards. That's my advice."
Cynthia's hands began to tremble in her lap. She said nothing however, and Westwood did not pursue the subject. But a few days later she asked him a question which showed what was weighing on her mind.