"Yes, father." And then Cynthia added with simplicity, which was perhaps a little assumed. "Miss Enid Vane says that Hubert will be ordered to the Riviera for the winter when—when he is free."
"What has that to do with it?" said Westwood, rolling up his plans and moving a few steps away from her.
"Only that perhaps we had better not think too much about the house, father. We might not be able to come to it."
"Oh, that's it, is it?" her father said slowly. "You're still thinking of Mr. Lepel, Cynthia?"
"Yes, father dear."
"You mean to marry the man that would have seen me hang and never said a word to save me?"
"He would not have done that, you know, father. He spoke out at last, in order to save you from being rearrested. And you gave me your consent before——"
"Ay, before I knew that he had done the deed! I thought that his sister had done it, and that he was keeping her secret, when I gave my consent, my girl. It makes a deal of difference."
"Not to me," said Cynthia quietly. "He did wrong; but I learned to love him before I knew the story; and I can't leave off loving him now."
Westwood sat down and began rapping the table with his roll of plans in a meditative manner.