Cynthia had risen, and all of the laugher was gone from her eyes. What had happened to make her grow suddenly grave, Isaac Worthington never knew.
“I have to get my father's supper,” she said.
He, too, rose, puzzled and disconcerted at this change in her.
“And may I not come to Coniston?” he asked.
“My father and I should be glad to see you, Mr. Worthington,” she answered.
He untied her horse and essayed one more topic.
“You are taking a very big book,” he said. “May I look at the title?”
She showed it to him in silence. It was the “Life of Napoleon Bonaparte.”