"That is exactly what I wish," said Wargrave, with an uneasy smile.
"Ah! will you take a seat? She may come back at any moment; and if I could in the meantime give you any particulars——"
"Madame de Castel-Sombre——"
"No, no," said the old lady, putting away the double-barrelled name, as it were, with a wave of her hand. "Plain Castel, if you please; that is enough for us now."
"Madame," repeated Charles Wargrave, "it is not the kind of engagement you think of, which I wish to propose to Mademoiselle Claire."
"Ah!" cried the mother with a sudden start; "is it, well—what is it? I may misunderstand you. Please to speak plainly. You are——?" She gave a quick glance at his card, which she held in her hand. "It is the same name as Claire's employers in London. Perhaps I am making a mistake. Is she called back?"
"The people in London are my relations. I saw your daughter there; you will not wonder, perhaps, that I admired her, that I did all I could to make myself known to her—that I loved her."
He made a pause, feeling his story somewhat embarrassing to tell under the close inspection of the mother's eyes.
"No," she said, after a moment's pause, "I am not surprised. I have always thought Claire a very interesting woman; but, pardon me, I should have thought her a little too old for you."
"What does that matter?" he cried, vehemently angry to have this objection produced against him from the last quarter in the world where it could have been expected.