“Now ask me no more. I have said more than I intended to do, and can reveal nothing further of that past which lies like a dead weight on my happiness. I must leave you to return to my son, but I will come back when you have had your breakfast served to you, and—”
Cinthia was sitting up on the side of the bed, her hair a disheveled tangle of gold about her pallid face, with its great star-like eyes. They flashed with sudden pride now as she interrupted:
“Let me beg you to remain away, nor seek to cross again the gulf that you say yawns between us. I am better alone with my humiliation,” bitterly.
“Do not call it that, Cinthia—you do not understand! And I must take charge of you until your father comes,” insisted Mrs. Varian.
“I prefer to remain alone.”
“It would appear cruel in me to leave you like this, seemingly forlorn and friendless.”
Cinthia laughed mirthlessly, and reiterated:
“I prefer to wait alone for my father.”
“Very well, I must bow to your will. God bless you, my poor girl,” and the haughty woman moved with a stately step from the room.
Cinthia threw herself back upon the bed with closed eyes and pallid lips. The agony of that moment no pen could describe.