“Oh, no,” answered Cynthia, wondering how she could get by him.
“Were you waiting for Miss Merrill?”
“Oh, no,” said Cynthia again.
The other young man turned his back and became absorbed in the picture of a lion getting ready to tear a lady to pieces. But Mr. Browne was of that mettle which is not easily baffled in such matters. He introduced himself, and desired to know whom he had the honor of addressing. Cynthia could not but enlighten him. Mr. Browne was greatly astonished, and showed it.
“So you are the mysterious young lady who has been staying here in the house this winter,” he exclaimed, as though it were a marvellous thing. “I have heard Miss Merrill speak of you. She admires you very much. Is it true that you come from—Coniston?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Let me see—where is Coniston?” inquired Mr. Browne.
“Do you know where Brampton is?” asked Cynthia. “Coniston is near Brampton.”
“Brampton!” exclaimed Mr. Browne, “I have a classmate who comes from Brampton—Bob Worthington—You must know Bob, then.”
Yes, Cynthia knew Mr. Worthington.