Mrs. Fairfax's real reason was that the outside world would not know
just how affairs stood in the family until she had had time to turn
everything into cash and get over to Europe to look up another
millionaire widower.
On the very night that Faynie had returned so unceremoniously there had
been a most thrilling scene but an hour before between Mrs. Fairfax and
her daughter.
Unable to sleep, Claire had wandered down to her late stepfather's
library in search of a book.
She was not a little surprised to see her mother there--writing--at that
late hour.
Her footsteps had made no sound on the thick velvet carpet, and she
stole up to her side quite unobserved, looking over her shoulder to see
what interested her mother so deeply.
One--two---three--four--five minutes she stood there, fairly rooted to
the spot, then a gasp of terror broke from her white lips, causing her
mother to spring to her feet like a flash.
"Claire!" she exclaimed, hoarsely, trembling like an aspen leaf and
clinging to the back of the nearest chair for support.
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