Cynthia was also met in a front hall--but by her father.
"I've been looking for you, Cynthia," he said gravely. "I want to talk
to you and get your advice--no; the library is full of smoke--come in
here."
He led her into the drawing-room, which neither of them could remember
ever having sat in before.
"I've been talking with a young gentleman," said her father without
further preliminaries, "who made himself immensely interesting to me. To
begin with, I never saw a handsomer, more engaging specimen of young
manhood; and, in the second place, he is the author of some stories that
I have enjoyed in the past year more than any one's except O. Henry's.
He doesn't write over his own name--but that's neither here nor there.
"He came to me for advice. Why he selected me, a total stranger, will
appear presently. His family isn't well off; and, though he expects to
succeed in literature--and there's no doubt of it in my mind--he feels
that he ought to give it up and go into something in which the financial
prospects are brighter. I suggested a rich wife, but that seemed to hurt
his feelings. He said it would be bad enough to marry a girl that had
more than he had; but to marry a rich girl, when he had only the few
hundreds a year that he can make writing stories, was an intolerable
thought. And that's all the more creditable to him because, from what I
can gather, he is desperately in love--and the girl is potentially
rich."
"But," said Cynthia, "what have I to do with all this?"
Her father laughed. "This young fellow didn't come to me of his own
accord. I sent for him. And I must tell you that, contrary to my
expectations, I was charmed with him. If I had had a son I should wish
him to be just like this youngster."
Cynthia was very much puzzled.
"He writes stories?" she said.
"Bully stories! But he takes so much pains that his output is small."
"Well," said she, "what did you tell him?"
"I told him to wait."
"That's conservative advice."
"As a small boy," said her father, "he was very delicate; but now he's
as sound as a bell and he looks as strong as an elk."
Cynthia rose to her feet, trembling slightly.
"What was the matter with him--when he was delicate?"
"Consumption."
She became as it were taller--and vivid with beauty.
"Where is he?"
"In the library."
Cynthia put her hands on her father's shoulders.
"It's all right," she said; "his family has come into quite a lot of
money. He doesn't know it yet. They're going to give him enough to marry
on. You still think he ought to marry--don't you?"
They kissed.
Cynthia flew out of the room, across the hall, and into the library.
_They_ kissed!