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"We ain't anything but the rounds of the ladder for Norman Lloyd to climb by, and he only sees and feels us with the soles of his patent-leathers," one of the turbulent spirits in his factory said. Mrs. Norman Lloyd would not have believed her ears had she heard him. Mrs. Lloyd had not sat long before Cynthia's fire that evening before she opened on the subject of the lost child.
Ellen began to remember all Cynthia's ways and looks, as a scholar remembers with a view to imitation. She became her disciple. She began to move like Cynthia, and to speak like her, though she did not know it.
Devar cultivated the high-pitched voice that she regarded as the hall-mark of good breeding, and, in that silent rush downhill, Medenham could not avoid hearing each syllable. It was eminently pleasing to listen to Cynthia's praise of his car, and he was wroth with the other woman for wrenching the girl's thoughts away so promptly from a topic dear to his heart.
"Yes," she said, at length "I think I remember her." "You've seen the child too?" "Yes" Cynthia's eyes softened; "I am sure I remember her." "I'll tell you about her presently. I've got a notion in my head about these Lepels. Miss Lepel, as was, and Mr. Sydney Vane was in love with one another and about to run away from England when he was killed.
"Now there was only one person at Styles who worked on the land Mrs. Cavendish. Therefore it must have been Mrs. Cavendish who entered the deceased's room through the door communicating with Mademoiselle Cynthia's room." "But that door was bolted on the inside!" I cried. "When I examined the room, yes.
And it was true, although the little white parsonage was scarce two hundred yards from the tannery house. "Jethro's never ailed much," Jock remarked, having reference to Cynthia's proclivities for visiting the sick. "I've seed a good many different men in my time, and I tell you, Cynthia Ware, that Jethro's got a kind of power you don't often come acrost. Folks don't suspicion it."
Merrill half expected to receive a note before the holidays ended that Cynthia's presence was no longer desired at the school. No such note came, however. If one had to be away from home on Christmas, there could surely be no better place to spend that day than in the Merrill household.
Cynthia took up so much time in dressing Molly to her mind, that she herself had to perform her toilette in a hurry. Molly, ready dressed, sate on a low chair in Cynthia's room, watching the pretty creature's rapid movements, as she stood in her petticoat before the glass, doing up her hair, with quick certainty of effect. At length, Molly heaved a long sigh, and said,
Duncan's freckled face smiled at them from the top of the railing, his eyes were on Cynthia's face, and he had been listening eagerly. Mr. Duncan's chief characteristic, beyond his freckles, was his eagerness a quality probably amounting to keenness. "Hello," said Bob, turning impatiently, "I might have known you couldn't keep away.
Suddenly Cynthia's exaltation over the incident of the morning seemed to leave her, and Bob Worthington's words which she had pondered over in the night came back to her with renewed force. He did not find it necessary to steal away to see Miss Duncan. Why should he have "stolen away" to see her? Was it because she was a country girl, and poor?
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