"At my age, dear Mrs. Sheldon, a man wants a home presided over by a fond and faithful wife, who will not have her head turned by the frivolities of fashion, but will live for her husband. I do not think I am mistaken in thinking that you will make me such a wife."
"I hope I may, dear major."
"Then you grant my suit?"
"Can you not give me a week?" asked the widow, thinking it best not to grasp at the offer too eagerly.
"I could, but I would rather not. Can you not end my suspense to-day? We have no one to consult. We can decide for ourselves. Why need we delay?"
"Well, major, if you insist upon it, I must say yes," said the widow, "though I fear we are both acting foolishly."
"I am not, at any rate," said the major; and he was doubtless right, for the object of his devotion was worth at least a quarter of a million, while he was harassed by creditors whom he could not satisfy.
Of what followed it is needless to speak. Half an hour later Major Ashton left the house, successful and complacent. Henceforth he would find his path clear. He had only to whisper the secret of his engagement to appease even his most troublesome creditors. The husband of the wealthy Mrs. Sheldon would be quite a different person from the impecunious Major Ashton.
When Grace Dearborn returned, she found a new look on her aunt's face—a look of mingled complacence and confusion—for which she could not account.
"Has anything happened, Aunt Caroline?" she asked.