"I don't understand," she falters.
"Didn't you tell her?" Mr. Langton demands of Vane.
"No, I forgot. After all, it wasn't necessary," he answers.
"Cunning dog," the old man laughs. "So she took you for yourself alone? Well, I told you so. She has a true heart in spite of her wild ways."
But Reine stares from one to the other, vaguely troubled.
Mr. Langton bends and kisses the fair, low brow.
"Reine, you are my heiress now," he says. "I shall cut Maud off with a shilling. You and Vane will have all my money when I am dead."
"Oh, if you please, Uncle Langton, I'd rather not," she cries, breathlessly, then she looks at Vane. "Is he taking me for the money?" she says, with a flash of disdain in her great, black eyes.
Vane flushes an angry crimson, but his old friend interferes.
"No, you little goose," he replies, severely, "He's taking you because you're a deuced pretty girl, and worth a dozen disobedient Mauds. Now will you put on that wedding-veil there, and go down-stairs with him and show those gaping, gossiping simpletons that there's a bride after all, and the wedding-feast will not be spoiled by the groom's sorrow?"