"I suppose I could if I had to," said Cynthia, "but I shouldn't like it."

"Oh, it would do you good," said Janet; "it would ennoble your character.
Not that it needs it," she added hastily. "And I could write another
story about that quaint old man who paid the musicians to go away, and
who made us all laugh so much."

Cynthia's eye kindled.

"Mr. Bass isn't a quaint old man," she said; "he's the greatest man in
the state."

Miss Duncan's patronage had been of an unconscious kind. She knew that
she had offended, but did not quite realize how.

"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."