Cinthia locked herself into the luxurious room, and laid aside her hat and jacket, so that she might bathe her face and neck, and brush out the golden waves of her beautiful hair.
When she had finished, she gazed at herself in the long mirror, and saw an exquisitely beautiful young creature, although her face was pale, and there were dark circles under her heavy eyes, caused by the excitement and emotion of the last thirty-six hours.
She sunk into a large easy-chair, and waited, with a wildly throbbing heart, for the end of the interview between Arthur and his mother.
She had a lurking presentiment of evil. It had fallen on her at the touch of Mrs. Varian’s cold hand, and the strange glance of her eyes—so different from her sweet friendliness the night she had been her guest at Idlewild.
Yet Arthur had said his mother was pleased at their engagement. What could it all mean?
The lids drooped over her tired young eyes, and in spite of her anxiety, weariness overcame her, and she fell into a heavy sleep—so she did not have to undergo the suspense of waiting, for more than half an hour passed away before there came a low, half-deprecating rap upon the door.
It startled Cinthia, and she sprung awake, looking about her in confusion, before she comprehended her position.
The rap came again, and a little impatiently, so she hastily opened the door to Mrs. Varian, saying:
“Pardon me if I have kept you waiting. I was fatigued with travel, and fell asleep.”