And to the dame's quavering answer that she knew not, she angrily bade her go ascertain.
In a pet, Cynthia paced the chamber whilst Catherine was gone upon that errand.

Did this man account her a toy to while away the hours for which he could find no more profitable diversion, and to leave her to die of ennui when aught else offered?
Was it a small thing that he had asked of her, to go with him into a strange land, that he should show himself so little sensible of the honour done him?
With such questions did she plague herself, and finding them either unanswerable, or answerable only by affirmatives, she had well-nigh resolved upon leaving the inn, and making her way back to London to seek out her aunt, when the door opened and her woman reappeared.
"Well ?" cried Cynthia, seeing her alone.

"Where is Sir Crispin ?" "Below, madam." "Below ?" echoed she.

"And what, pray, doth he below ?" "He is at dice with a gentleman from London." In the dim light of the October twilight the woman saw not the sudden pallor of her mistress's cheeks, but she heard the gasp of pain that was almost a cry.

In her mortification, Cynthia could have wept had she given way to her feelings.