Paul Desfrayne’s thoughts were utterly confused. Since entering the room, he had scarcely spoken three sentences, and he heartily wished himself anywhere rather than in this softly illumined suite of rooms, facing this beautiful girl with the angelic face, whom he had been commanded and largely bribed to fall in love with and make his wife. He dreaded the moment when Lady Quaintree should drop her gold-rimmed eye-glass, and the silence should be broken. At the same time, the thought of his mother never left him. What would she say when she learnt the contents of this terrible will? Only too well he foresaw the scenes he should be obliged to go through. As for this girl herself, lovely as some poet’s vision, he resolved to see as little of her as might be compatible with the fulfilment of his legal duties and responsibilities toward her. What a pitiful coward he felt himself! Why could he not tell the truth, and save so much possible future suffering? Lady Quaintree read through the closely written document, and then, folding it up, stared at each of the three persons before her, with an almost comic expression of amazement upon her fair, unwrinkled countenance. “Captain Desfrayne,” she said, smiling as she held out her hand, “I trust you will be pleased to remain with us this evening as long as your inclinations or other engagements permit. I expect some very pleasant friends--some really distinguished persons, with whom you may either already be well acquainted, or whom you might not object to meet.” There was such a stately yet gracious dignity in her manner that Captain Desfrayne caught the infection, and bowed over the delicate white hand with almost old-fashioned chivalric courtesy. “You will pardon my leaving you two gentlemen alone for a few minutes,” she added. “Lois, my love, I will go with you to your room.” Lady Quaintree quitted the salon, followed by the beautiful figure, clad in its cloudy robes of ethereal white. “Let us go at once to your apartment, my child,” she said, leading the way. Her eyes were bright with eager excitement, for she was surprised and pleased by the totally unexpected change in her young companion’s fortunes; and she loved the girl so much that she was rejoiced to see her rise from her inferior station to one of wealth--to see so fair and sunny a prospect opening before her. She glided up the stairs with a step so alert that forty years seemed lifted from her age; and in a minute they were within the precincts of the pretty room which was the domain of Lois Turquand. “My love,” Lady Quaintree said, closing the door with a careful hand, “I am so pleased I can hardly tell you how much. You, no doubt, wish to know the contents of this wondrous paper? My dear, it is as interesting as a fairy-tale. You are a good girl, and deserve all the good fortune Heaven may please to send you.”