Jethro had betrayed no interest in the conversation. He was seated, as usual, on the small of his back. But he saw a young man of short stature, with a freckled face and close-cropped, curly red hair, come into the corridor by another entrance; he saw Isaac D. Worthington draw him aside and speak to him, and he saw the young man coming towards them.
“How do you do, Miss Wetherell?” cried the young man joyously, while still ten feet away, “I'm awfully glad to see you, upon my word; I am. How long are you going to be in Washington?”
“I don't know, Mr. Duncan,” answered Cynthia.
“Did Worthy know you were here?” demanded Mr. Duncan, suspiciously.
“He did when he saw me,” said Cynthia, smiling.
“Not till then?” asked Mr. Duncan. “Say, Worthy; your father wants to see you right away. I'm going to be in Washington a day or two—will you go walking with me to-morrow morning, Miss Wetherell?”
“She's going walking with me,” said Bob, not in the best of tempers.
“Then I'll go along,” said Mr. Duncan, promptly.
By this time Cynthia got up and was holding out her hand to Bob Worthington. “I'm not going walking with either of you,” she said “I have another engagement. And I think I'll have to say good night, because I'm very tired.”
“When can I see you?” Both the young men asked the question at once.