"No, I sha'n't. Do tell me why!"
"Well"—still in a whisper—"it was because I read a story, that you had written—a tale about a girl called Amy Maitland—do you remember?"
"I ought to remember," said Hubert thoughtfully, "because I know I wrote it; but an author does not always recall his old stories very accurately, Miss West. It was a short tale for a Christmas number, I know. What was there in it that could cause you to honor me in this way, I wonder?"
"Ah, don't laugh at me, please, Mr. Lepel!" Cynthia's voice was so sweet in its entreating tones that Hubert thought he had never heard anything more musical. "It was all about a girl who was poor like me, and whose parents were dead, and about her adventures, you know—particularly about her not being able to get any work to do, and nearly throwing herself into the river. I have had the thought more than once lately that it would end with me in that way—the river looks so deep and silent and mysterious—doesn't it? But that's all nonsense, I suppose! However, when I read about Amy in the old Christmas number, that my landlady lent me the other night, it came to my mind that I had seen you behind the scenes, and that, if you could write in that way, you might be more ready—ready to help——" She stopped short, a little breathless after her long and tremulous speech.
"My poor child," said Hubert, with the tender accent that showed that he was moved, "I am afraid it does not always follow. However, let us take the most cheerful view possible of all things, even of novelists, and try to believe that they practise what they preach. It would be hard if I did not prove worthy of your confidence, Miss West. I am sure I don't know whether I will be able to do anything for you or not, but I will see."
"Thank you, Mr. Lepel."
She said the words very low, and drew a quick breath of relief as she said them. By the light of a gas-lamp under which they were passing at the moment Hubert saw that she had turned very pale. He halted suddenly.
"I am very thoughtless," he said, "not to recollect that you must be tired, and that I am perhaps taking you out of your way."
"No," said Cynthia simply; "I always go this way. I lodge at a boarding-house in the Euston Road."
"Then let us to business at once!" exclaimed Mr. Lepel, in a cheerful tone. "What sort of engagement do you want, Miss West?"