"Was there any danger?" laughed the elder.
Cynthia's face was scarlet. It wasn't danger exactly, but she felt better under Cousin Chilian's wing. And she was her bright gay self all the evening.
But how to get her story told? For if Mr. Saltonstall came and asked for her company, as they termed it then, and not being warned, he should consent——
They sat by the study fire. It had turned out cold and cloudy, with indications of snow. He had a lamp near him on the small table, and read and thought, as his glance wandered dreamily over the leaping flashing blue and yellow flames. If it stormed for one or two days, she could not have come home.
She rose presently and came and stood by him, laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. She was a young lady now, and it was hardly proper to draw her down on his knee.
"Cousin Chilian;" hesitatingly.
"Well, dear?" in an inquiring tone.
"There is something I ought to tell you, and I want to ask you—to—to do—oh, I hardly know how to say it. Mr. Saltonstall came down; he and Mrs. Stevens are old friends——"
Ah, he knew now. This young man had dared to invade the virginal sweetness of her soul, to trouble the quiet stream of girlhood. He was roused, strangely angry, for all his placid temperament.
"I couldn't help it—just before he went away—and I couldn't have dreamed of such a thing——"