“Well,” he remarked, “you've changed a lot in three months. I always thought that, if you had a chance, there'd be no telling where you'd end up.”
“That doesn't sound very complimentary,” said Cynthia. She had, indeed, changed. “In what terrible place do you think I'll end up?”
“I suppose you'll marry one of these Boston men.”
“Oh,” she laughed, “that wouldn't be so terrible, would it?”
“I believe you're engaged to one of 'em now,” he remarked, looking very hard at her.
“If you believed that, I don't think you would say it,” she answered.
“I can't make you out. You used to be so frank with me, and now you're not at all so. Are you going to Coniston for the holidays?”
Her face fell at the question.
“Oh, Bob,” she cried, surprising him utterly by a glimpse of the real Cynthia, “I wish I were—I wish I were! But I don't dare to.”
“Don't dare to?”