Cinthia and her aunt had a most affecting meeting, though it was the elder woman who broke down and forced the other to tears.
“Oh, Cinthy, you never loved him as I did! You never knew him at his best—before sorrow came to him and spoiled his nature,” she sobbed.
Cinthia could only weep.
“It is not my fault that I was lacking in sympathy. I was never told of his troubles.”
“He did not wish for you to know, dear, lest your young life should be saddened more than it was already.”
“Dear aunt, I am very sorry for him, and grieved to see you looking so pale and thin. Tell me how all this came about,” pleaded Cinthia. And while they are exchanging confidences, we will return to Arthur and his mother.
She had gone to her room to receive him alone, and he clasped her tenderly in his arms.
“Poor mother!” he sighed, with deep compassion, and then they sat down and talked awhile together.
“I have one pleasant piece of news for you. Cinthia and Fred are engaged,” he said.
“I am glad of it—under the circumstances,” she replied, exactly as he had replied to Frederick’s announcement of the betrothal.