"I'm so sorry," she cried, "I didn't mean to hurt you. You live with him, don't you—Coniston?"
"Yes," replied Cynthia, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
"I've heard about Coniston. It must be quite a romance in itself to live all the year round in such a beautiful place and to make your own clothes. Yours become you very well," said Miss Duncan, "although I don't know why. They're not at all in style, and yet they give you quite an air of distinction. I wish I could live in Coniston for a year, anyway, and write a book about you. My brother and Bob Worthington went out there one night and serenaded you, didn't they?"
"Yes," said Cynthia, that peculiar flash coming into her eyes again, "and
I think it was very foolish of them."
"Do you?" exclaimed Miss Duncan, in surprise; "I wish somebody would serenade me. I think it was the most romantic thing Bob ever did. He's wild about you, and so is Somers they have both told me so in confidence."
Cynthia's face was naturally burning now.
"If it were true," she said, "they wouldn't have told you about it."
"I suppose that's so," said Miss Duncan, thoughtfully, "only you're very clever to have seen it. Now that I know you, I think you a more remarkable person than ever. You don't seem at all like a country girl, and you don't talk like one."
Cynthia laughed outright. She could not help liking Janet Duncan, mere flesh and blood not being proof against such compliments.
"I suppose it's because my father was an educated man," she said; "he taught me to read and speak when I was young."