Mrs. Flint snapped, irately:
“Now, Cinthia Dawn, don’t you go getting your head turned by idle flatteries from rich young men. Anybody but a silly child would know they don’t mean anything.”
“Oh, Aunt Beck, please don’t call me a child any more. I am as grown up as anybody, and you know it—seventeen last April. And—and”—wistfully and defiantly all at once—“he does mean it. He loves me dearly—and—we—are—engaged!”
Aunt Beck gave a jump of uncontrollable surprise.
“Cinthy Dawn, you don’t mean it?”
“Yes, I do, Aunt Beck. I have promised to marry Arthur Varian.”
“But, land sakes, child—oh, I forgot; well girl, then—you don’t hardly know each other!”
“Oh, yes, we do. We have been acquainted some time. We fell in love weeks ago, and—and—he told me in the carriage he loved me and wanted to marry me.”
CHAPTER IV.
BREAKERS AHEAD.
Mrs. Flint was so surprised she could not speak; she could only stare in wonder at the beautiful, excited creature with her happy face.