“See! It is fortunate that the chamber-maid is honest, or that she did not discover these. I thank you for your courtesy. But, excuse me, you were going out. My dear young lady are you feeling well? I assure you that you look extremely ill; and there is a sharp east wind blowing outside. You are trembling; your face is as pale as chalk; your beautiful hair is all in disorder. You ought to be in bed with your mother watching over you.”
“My mother, alas!” cried Cinthia; and again her slight form shook with a tempest of sobs and tears that startled the handsome stranger, who forced her gently into a chair.
Meanwhile, Everard Dawn was speeding to Washington on the fastest train. He arrived there at dusk, and took a cab to the hotel where Mrs. Varian was staying, immediately sending up his card to that lady, and receiving a summons to her private parlor.
She was waiting there alone, and their greeting was cold and formal, though she could not help noting the signs of last night’s agitation on his pale face.
Waving him to a seat, she recounted briefly all that had transpired since their meeting yesterday.
“I came away last night—frankly, I could not breathe the same air with you—and I found them here. It was one of the greatest shocks of my life,” she said, and he bowed coldly.
She continued, stiffly:
“She is here waiting for you, but in a most rebellious mood: in fact, forbade me to re-enter her room to-day, so she must have spent a lonely time, poor girl! But before you go to her, Arthur wishes an interview with you on a very particular subject relating to Cinthia. You will find him alone in there,” indicating a door.
Everard Dawn looked fixedly at her a moment then bowed and left her standing there, while he went in to Arthur Varian.