During the dinner that followed Kendale longed to introduce the subject of “Faynie,” but found no opening.  His eagerness to know what they thought and what they had to say concerning her disappearance was intense, but he had to bide his time to find out.

Meanwhile he paid the most flattering attention to Claire.

He had noticed with a keen sense of regret that the girl limped most painfully in her walk, but, despite this defect, for the first time in his reckless life, he was thoroughly fascinated with her.

He took his leave early, promising them that he would certainly avail himself of their gracious permission to call again, very, very soon.

Long after his departure the mother and daughter still sat in the drawing-room discussing him eagerly.

“It is a good thing for you that Faynie declines to come down to the drawing-room to see visitors and insists upon having her meals in her own room.  If she had seen this handsome Mr. Armstrong, you would have stood little chance of winning him, my dear,” declared Mrs. Fairfax.

Claire rose slowly to her feet, turned and faced her mother.

“You and I do not agree on that point, mamma,” she said, quickly, “I have what you call a Quixotic notion, perhaps, and that is that we are attracted toward those whom Heaven intended for us, and if this be so he would not have been attracted toward Faynie if he were intended for me.”

“We will not argue the matter, Claire, for we shall never agree,” declared her mother, adding:  “I shall always be opposed to Mr. Armstrong meeting Faynie or ever hearing one word concerning the existence of such a person.  If he should, mind, I predict harm will come of it.”

Those were the words that rang in Claire’s ears long after she retired to her room.

“I shall tell Faynie that we had a caller last evening and how handsome he was; but I shall take good care to follow mamma’s advice and never let her know his name,” the girl ruminated.

She was only a young girl, full of girlish enthusiasm, and it was certainly beyond human expectation to believe she could refrain from mentioning that much to Faynie the next morning.

Faynie laid a little white hand on Claire’s nut-brown head.

“Take care not to fall too deeply in love with this handsome stranger,” she said, “for handsome men are not always good and true as they seem.”

“I am sure this gentleman is,” declared impulsive Claire emphatically.  “He has the deepest, richest, mellowest voice I ever heard, and such eyes—­wine dark eyes—­those are the only words which seem to express what they are like—­and when he takes your hand and looks down into your face, the hand he holds so lightly tingles from the finger tips straight to your heart.”

“I am afraid he has been holding your hand, Claire.  Ah, take care—­beware!” warned Faynie.

During the fortnight that followed Kendale was a constant visitor at the palatial Fairfax home.