“Cousin Eph,” said Cynthia, laughing, “you're no match for Miss Lucretia, and it's long past your bedtime.”
“A man!” repeated Miss Lucretia, after he had retired, and after Cynthia had tried to express her gratitude and had been silenced. They sat side by side in front of the chimney. “I suppose he meant that as a compliment. I never yet saw the man I couldn't back down, and I haven't any patience with a woman who gives in to them.” Miss Lucretia poked vigorously a log which had fallen down, as though that were a man, too, and she was putting him back in his proper place.
Cynthia, strange to say, did not reply to this remark.
“Cynthia,” said Miss Lucretia, abruptly, “you don't mean to say that you are in love!”
Cynthia drew a long breath, and grew as red as the embers.
“Miss Lucretia!” she exclaimed, in astonishment and dismay.
“Well,” Miss Lucretia said, “I should have thought you could have gotten along, for a while at least, without anything of that kind. My dear,” she said leaning toward Cynthia, “who is he?”
Cynthia turned away. She found it very hard to speak of her troubles, even to Miss Lucretia, and she would have kept this secret even from Jethro, had it been possible.
“You must let him know his place,” said Miss Lucretia, “and I hope he is in some degree worthy of you.”
“I do not intend to marry him,” said Cynthia, with head still turned away.