It was dearly patent to him that Mr.Lester Armstrong did not care how badly the business was crippled, so long as he secured the yacht and the fast horses.
From that first day, so full of awkward and almost fatal mistakes, Kendale spent as little time as was absolutely necessary in the establishment of Marsh & Company, as it was still called, preferring to let all of the business cares fall upon the manager's already weighted shoulders.
In less than a week it was noised about social circles that the young man who had so suddenly dropped into millions of money was something of a sport--a yachtsman whose magnificent yachting parties were the wonder of the metropolis; a horseman whose racing stables were second to none and were worth a handsome fortune; and it was hinted that he seemed no stranger at cards and gambled sums of gold that would have purchased a king's ransom at a single game--until those who looked on in speechless wonder were sure he must have exhaustless wealth.

Every one prophesied, however, that this reckless extravagance must have an ending some time.
Meanwhile society held out its arms to the young millionaire, welcoming him with its sweetest smiles.
The date which he had set to dine with the Fairfaxes, of Beechwood, rolled around at last, and for once in his life Kendale, or rather the bogus Lester Armstrong, was punctual in his appointment.
He was ushered into a drawing-room of such magnificence that for a moment he fairly caught his breath in wonder.
"So this was the home of Faynie Fairfax, the girl whom I wedded in the old church and who died so suddenly on her bridal eve," he soliloquized.
"Well, all this could be mine for the fighting for it as Faynie's husband, who has survived her, but, as Halloran would say, 'It's a deal easier getting the same fortune by marrying the stepmother's daughter, who has come into it by Faynie's father cutting her off at the eleventh hour.' "I wonder what the girl Claire is like." There was a portrait of a young girl done in water colors over the mantel.

He stepped over to examine it.
"If this is Claire's portrait she's certainly not bad looking," he mused, "but she is one I should not care to cross." The figure was slight, draped in a gown of some light, airy fabric.

The head was small, crowned in a mass of waving dark hair.

The contour of the face was perfect; a pair of deep gray eyes looked out of it straight at you; the lips were small, but a little too compressed, showing that the owner of them had certainly a will of her own, which it was neither wise nor best to cross.
He was startled from his contemplation by the sound of silken robes rustling across the carpet, and, wheeling suddenly about, he was confronted by a tall, slim, magnificent woman, who welcomed him most graciously to Fairfax House.
"My daughter Claire will join us in a very few minutes.