There'll be a scene of course--we may expect that--but when you tell him how you love me, and couldn't live without me and all that--and mind, you put it on heavy--it will end by his saying: 'Youth is youth, and love goes where it is sent.
I forgive you, my children; come right back to the paternal roof--consider it yours in fact.' And when the occasion is ripe, you could suggest that the old gent start your hubby in business.

Your wish would be law; he might demur a trifle at first, but if you stuck well to your point he'd soon cave in and ask what figure I'd take to--" "Stop!--stop right where you are, you mercenary wretch!" cried Faynie in a ringing voice.

"I see it all now--as clear as day.

You--you--have married me because you have believed me my father's heiress, and--" "You couldn't help but be, my dear," he hiccoughed.

"An only child--no one else on earth to come in for his gold--couldn't help but be his heiress, you know--couldn't disinherit you if he wanted to.