THAT evening, shortly after Miss Forbes had been dressed for Mrs. Burr’s dinner, her mother entered and dismissed the maid.
“What is it, mamma?” Augusta demanded in some surprise. “How odd you look. Not as pretty as usual.”
Mrs. Forbes’ lips had withdrawn from their pout; her whole face had lost its sensuousness and seemed to have settled into rigid lines. She went over to the fire and lifted one foot to the fender, then turned and looked at her daughter.
“Do you wish to marry the Duke of Bosworth?” she asked abruptly.
A wave of red rose slowly to Augusta’s hair. Her lips parted. “What do you mean?” she enquired after a moment. Her voice was a little thick. “He is engaged to Mabel.”
“He cannot marry Mabel. Mr. Creighton is on the verge of ruin.”
Miss Forbes gasped. “Oh, how dreadful!” she exclaimed, but something seemed to suffuse her brain with light.
“You can marry him if you wish.”
“But Mabel is my most intimate friend. It would be like outbidding her. She has the two hundred thousand dollars that her grandmother left her, and her father could surely give her as much more.”
“What would four hundred thousand dollars be to a ruined Duke, up to his ears in debt? He wants millions.”
“But papa does not like him.”
“Leave your father to me, and be guided entirely by me in this matter. I have a plan mapped out if he will not give his consent at once. Do you wish to marry this man?”
Miss Forbes drew a hard breath. “I want to marry him more than anything in the world,” she said.