A pang went through Fairfax's heart. Another heiress!
"They say she is awfully pretty and awfully sought after."
Antony murmured, "Yes, yes, of course," and took a few paces up and down the room.
"Do you know," said his aunt, who had slowly walked
over to the door and stood with her hand on the knob, "I used to think you were a little in love with Bella. She was such a funny, old-fashioned child, so grown up."
Fairfax exclaimed fiercely, "Aunt Caroline, I don't like to re-live the past!"
"I don't wonder," she murmured quietly; "and you are going to make such a brilliant marriage."
He saw her go with relief. She was terrible to him—like a vampire in her silks and jewels. Would she ruin her innocent, kindly husband? What would she do if she could not raise the money? He believed her capable of anything.
For three days he worked feverishly, and then he wrote to Mrs. Faversham that he was a little seedy and working, and that as Dearborn was away he would rather she would not come to the studio. Mrs. Faversham accepted his decision and wrote that she was organizing a charity concert for some fearfully poor people whom the Comtesse Potowski was patronizing; the comte and comtesse would both sing at the musicale, and he must surely come. "We must raise five thousand francs," she wrote, "and perhaps you may have some little figurine that we could raffle off in chances."
Tony laughed as he read the letter. He sent her a statuette to be raffled off for his aunt's Chinese paintings. She was ignorant of any sense of honour.