A scream of terror broke from Claire’s terrified lips.

“Oh, do not make away with yourself, Mr; Armstrong!” “I—­I will promise—­anything you—­you want me to!  Only don’t shoot yourself—­don’t!”

“Then you accept me?” queried Kendale in a very businesslike manner.

“Ye-es—­if mamma does not—­object,” she answered in a stifling manner.

“There must be no ifs,” he declared.  “You must take me, no matter who objects.  If we cannot bring your mamma around to an amicable way of thinking, we must elope—­that is all there is about it.”

“Elope!” gasped Claire in affright.

“Why, what else would there be left to do?” he asked, with asperity.  “I love you and I must have you, Claire, and if you are willing to take me, why, we will marry in spite of anything and everything that opposes.

“Of course, if your mamma sees things as we do, all well and good; but I say now to you, her objections must make no difference whatever in our plans.”

“Oh, Mr. Armstrong!” gasped Claire, not knowing what in the world to say to this ardent lover, who was so impetuous in his wooing.

Before he could add a word Mrs. Fairfax came down the grand stairway, her silken gown making a rustling frou-frou upon the velvet carpet.

She looked much surprised at finding him there, as she had not been apprised of his coming.

Kendale arose to greet her in his usual impressive, languid, courteous fashion, managing to whisper in Claire’s ear hastily: 

“Make some excuse to leave the drawing-room for a few minutes, dear, and while you are gone I will broach the all-important subject to your mother.”

Mrs. Fairfax greeted the handsome young man cordially, pretending not to have noticed how near to each other they had been sitting upon her entrance to the drawing-room, and how suddenly they had sprung apart.

Her daughter’s blushing face and confused manner told her that the propitious moment had arrived—­the handsome heir to the Marsh millions had proposed.

And underneath her calm exterior Mrs. Fairfax’s heart beat high with exultation.  Her quick ear had also caught that rapidly whispered last remark to Claire, and, realizing that her daughter was too much flustered to act upon it, gave the young man the opportunity to be alone with her which he seemed to desire by remarking: 

“Dear me, I have left my fan in my boudoir, Claire, dear, would you mind ringing for my maid to fetch it to me?”

“I will go for it, mamma,” returned Claire, shyly, without daring to look at her lover.

“As you like, my dear,” returned Mrs. Fairfax, with very natural appearing carelessness.

Claire was gone quite half an hour in search of the fan.  When she returned to the drawing-room her mother met her with open arms.

“Mr. Armstrong has told me all, my darling,” she murmured, “and I give my consent.  You may marry him if you love him, daughter, and quite as soon as he wishes.”