"I am afraid I do, father," she said, crying as she spoke.
"Then be faithful to him, my lass, like your mother was to me."
They said no more. But Cynthia brooded over her father's words for the next three days and nights. Then she came to him one day with her hat and cloak on, as if she were going for a walk.
"Father," she began abruptly, "do you allow me to go to Hubert—to see him, I mean?"
"Of course I do, my dear."
"Although you believe what you said—and what I did not say—that he could have cleared you if he had liked?"
"Yes, my dear—if you love him."
"Yes, I love him," said Cynthia sadly.
"I'm going to sail next week; he'll never be troubled by me again," said her father. "You can either stay with him, Cynthia, or he can come out with us. Out there we can all forget what's over and done. You go to him and tell him so at once."
He kissed her on the forehead with unaccustomed solemnity. Cynthia flung her arms round his neck and gave him a warm embrace. The eyes of both father and daughter were wet as they said good-bye.