Cynthia gave that pretty little jerk of her shoulders, which was her equivalent for a French shrug, but did not lift up her head from her sewing. Molly began to read the report over again.
"Why, Cynthia!" she said, "you might have been there; ladies were there. It says 'many ladies were present.' Oh, couldn't you have managed to go? If your uncle's set cared about these things, wouldn't some of them have taken you?"
"Perhaps, if I had asked them. But I think they would have been rather astonished at my sudden turn for science."
"You might have told your uncle how matters really stood, he wouldn't have talked about it if you had wished him not, I am sure, and he could have helped you."
"Once for all, Molly," said Cynthia, now laying down her work, and speaking with quick authority, "do learn to understand that it is, and always has been my wish, not to have the relation which Roger and I bear to each other, mentioned or talked about. When the right time comes, I will make it known to my uncle, and to everybody whom it may concern; but I am not going to make mischief, and get myself into trouble—even for the sake of hearing compliments paid to him—by letting it out before the time. If I'm pushed to it, I'd sooner break it off altogether at once, and have done with it. I can't be worse off than I am now." Her angry tone had changed into a kind of desponding complaint before she had ended her sentence. Molly looked at her with dismay.
"I can't understand you, Cynthia," she said at length.
"No; I daresay you can't," said Cynthia, looking at her with tears in her eyes, and very tenderly, as if in atonement for her late vehemence. "I am afraid—I hope you never will."
In a moment, Molly's arms were round her. "Oh, Cynthia," she murmured, "have I been plaguing you? Have I vexed you? Don't say you're afraid of my knowing you. Of course you've your faults, everybody has, but I think I love you the better for them."
"I don't know that I am so very bad," said Cynthia, smiling a little through the tears that Molly's words and caresses had forced to overflow from her eyes. "But I have got into scrapes. I'm in a scrape now. I do sometimes believe I shall always be in scrapes, and if they ever come to light, I shall seem to be worse than I really am; and I know your father will throw me off, and I—no, I won't be afraid that you will, Molly."
"I'm sure I won't. Are they—do you think—how would Roger take it?" asked Molly, very timidly.