“Don’t, darling, for my sake, be capricious any more,” she whispered. “As to disliking him because he is a viscount instead of a farmer, as you thought at first, that is foolish and beneath you. You are only joking, my dear, are you not? You would not disappoint me so bitterly, after all our talk this morning, about that voyage to the Cape, and how I was to come and stay with you, and--and----” The words died upon her lips. An ashen gray tint spread over her face, and she fell back among her cushions in a fainting-fit. Her feeble frame was not equal to the strain of the day’s excitement, culminating in the shock of Stella’s refusal to carry out the contract to which she seemed so willing a party in the morning, and on which Lady Cranstoun had set her heart. Stella overwhelmed herself with reproaches as she assisted Margaret to restore the invalid to consciousness. The gentlemen were still in the dining-room; they were, indeed, discussing the question of marriage settlements in a highly amicable manner. But to Stella’s great relief, Dr. Morland Graham returned from town just at the moment when his patient recovered consciousness, and by his advice she was taken off to bed, where she soon fell asleep, worn out by the fatigue and excitement of the day. “I want to talk to you about your dear mamma,” said Dr. Graham, in his most benevolent professional manner, as he accompanied Miss Cranstoun back to the drawing-room. “I don’t think even you quite realize her extreme weakness. Her heart is in such an enfeebled state that she must on no account be exposed to the slightest shock. She may die in a fainting-fit similar to the one she had to-night, and the finest medical skill in the world would not save her. She must not be thwarted or disappointed, if her life is to be prolonged, say for a year or two longer. May I ask whether there was any apparent reason for her last seizure?” “Yes,” answered Stella, after a moment’s hesitation. “We--we were talking about an offer of marriage which I have just received.” “Indeed! That is most interesting. May I be allowed to congratulate you? And who is the happy man?” “Wait, please! The man is Lord Carthew, who for some silly freak changed names with his friend when he came here last night.” The doctor laughed, a long, low, comfortable, and self-satisfied laugh. “The young gentleman did not deceive _me_,” he said, complacently. “I know Lord Northborough well, and the family likeness between him and his son is remarkable.”