"Yes, I do," said Cynthia. "At any rate, my lover must think me so. And it is just because I do not love him even as so light a thing as I could love, that I feel that I couldn't bear to have to tell him I'm sorry, and stand before him like a chidden child to be admonished and forgiven."
"But here you are, just in such a position before me, Cynthia!"
"Yes! but I love you better than Roger; I've often told Molly so. And I would have told you, if I hadn't expected and hoped to leave you all before long. I could see if the recollection of it all came up before your mind; I could see it in your eyes; I should know it by instinct. I have a fine instinct for reading the thoughts of others when they refer to me. I almost hate the idea of Roger judging me by his own standard, which wasn't made for me, and graciously forgiving me at last."
"Then I do believe it's right for you to break it off," said Mr. Gibson, almost as if he were thinking to himself. "That poor poor lad! But it will be best for him too. And he'll get over it. He has a good strong heart. Poor old Roger!"
For a moment Cynthia's wilful fancy stretched after the object passing out of her grasp,—Roger's love became for the instant a treasure; but, again, she knew that in its entirety of high undoubting esteem, as well as of passionate regard, it would no longer be hers; and for the flaw which she herself had made she cast it away, and would none of it. Yet often in after years, when it was too late, she wondered and strove to penetrate the inscrutable mystery of "what would have been."
"Still, take till to-morrow before you act upon your decision," said Mr. Gibson, slowly. "What faults you have fallen into have been mere girlish faults at first,—leading you into much deceit, I grant."
"Don't give yourself the trouble to define the shades of blackness," said Cynthia, bitterly. "I'm not so obtuse but what I know them all better than any one can tell me. And as for my decision I acted upon it at once. It may be long before Roger gets my letter,—but I hope he is sure to get it at last,—and, as I said, I have let his father know; it won't hurt him! Oh, sir, I think if I had been differently brought up I shouldn't have had the sore angry heart I have. Now! No, don't! I don't want reasoning comfort. I can't stand it. I should always have wanted admiration and worship, and men's good opinion. Those unkind gossips! To visit Molly with their hard words! Oh, dear! I think life is very dreary."
She put her head down on her hands; tired out mentally as well as bodily. So Mr. Gibson thought. He felt as if much speech from him would only add to her excitement, and make her worse. He left the room, and called Molly, from where she was sitting, dolefully. "Go to Cynthia!" he whispered, and Molly went. She took Cynthia into her arms with gentle power, and laid her head against her own breast, as if the one had been a mother, and the other a child.
"Oh, my darling!" she murmured. "I do so love you, dear, dear Cynthia!" and she stroked her hair, and kissed her eyelids; Cynthia passive all the while, till suddenly she started up stung with a new idea, and looking Molly straight in the face, she said,—
"Molly, Roger will marry you! See if it isn't so! You two good—"