If Cynthia had felt any emotion from this disclosure, she did not betray it. Janet, moreover, was not looking for it.
“What made you change your mind?” asked Cynthia, biting her lip.
“Oh, Bob hasn't the temperament,” said Janet, making use of a word that she had just discovered; “he's too practical—he never does or says the things you want him to. He's just been out West with us on a trip, and he was always looking at locomotives and brakes and grades and bridges and all such tiresome things. I should like to marry a poet,” said Miss Duncan, dreamily; “I know they want me to marry Bob, and Mr. Worthington wants it. I'm sure, of that. But he wouldn't at all suit me.”
If Cynthia had been able to exercise an equal freedom of speech, she might have been impelled to inquire what young Mr. Worthington's views were in the matter. As it was, she could think of nothing appropriate to say, and just then four people entered the room and came towards them. Two of these were Janet's mother and father, and the other two were Mr. Worthington, the elder, and the Honorable Heth Sutton. Mrs. Duncan, whom Janet did not at all resemble was a person who naturally commanded attention. She had strong features, and a very decided, though not disagreeable, manner.
“I couldn't imagine what had become of you, Janet,” she said, coming forward and throwing off her lace shawl. “Whom have you found—a school friend?”
“No, Mamma,” said Janet, “this is Cynthia Wetherell.” “Oh,” said Mrs. Duncan, looking very hard at Cynthia in a near-sighted way, and, not knowing in the least who she was; “you haven't seen Senator and Mrs. Meade, have you, Janet? They were to be here at eight o'clock.”
“No,” said Janet, turning again to Cynthia and scarcely hearing the question.
“Janet hasn't seen them, Dudley,” said Mrs. Duncan, going up to Mr. Worthington, who was pulling his chop whiskers by the door. “Janet has discovered such a beautiful creature,” she went on, in a voice which she did not take the trouble to lower. “Do look at her, Alexander. And you, Mr. Sutton—who are such a bureau of useful information, do tell me who she is. Perhaps she comes from your part of the country—her name's Wetherell.”
“Wetherell? Why, of course I know her,” said Mr. Sutton, who was greatly pleased because Mrs. Duncan had likened him to an almanac: greatly pleased this evening in every respect, and even the diamond in his bosom seemed to glow with a brighter fire. He could afford to be generous to-night, and he turned to Mr. Worthington and laughed knowingly. “She's the ward of our friend Jethro,” he explained.
“What is she?” demanded Mrs. Duncan, who knew and cared nothing about politics, “a country girl, I suppose.”