And during a certain fatal three days when the companion had been confined to her hotel bedroom by a bad cold, the friendship of shy, nervous Milly Fauncey, and of bold, confident Lionel Varick, had fast ripened, fostered by the romantic Italian atmosphere.
During these three days Varick, almost without trying to do so, had learnt all there was to learn of the simple-minded spinster and of her financial circumstances.

But he was not the man to take any risk, and he had actually paid a flying visit to London--a visit of which he had later had the grace to feel secretly ashamed--for it had had for object that of making quite sure, at Somerset House, that Miss Fauncey's account of herself was absolutely correct.
Yes, the wooing of Milly Fauncey had been almost too easy, and he knew that he was not likely to be so fortunate this time.

But now the prize to be won was such an infinitely greater prize! He told himself that he mustn't be impatient.

This, after all, was only the second day of Helen Brabazon's stay at Wyndfell Hall.

Perhaps it was a good thing that her cantankerous old uncle had betaken himself off.
Misfortune had a way of turning itself into good fortune where Lionel Varick was concerned; for he was bold and brave, as well as always ready to seize opportunity at the flood.
When, at last, they had almost finished their tour of the house, and he was showing her into the haunted room, she clapped her hands delightedly.