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Claire suddenly urged her.

“You’ll accept, mother?” she said quickly, and the other nodded.

Then the girl turned again to the waiting man who had withdrawn a letter and the document that must be signed, from an inner pocket.

Claire forced a laugh to her lips.

“It seems queer, Mr. Forner,” she said shrewdly. “Yes, surely we’ll accept, and mother’ll sign. But I’m kind of glad you came, and I’m real glad to hear you say that piece, especially seeing Booker and I discussed the market value of the block and he was fully aware of its position. I’d made a guess you’ve somehow had a deal to do with changing his mind. It isn’t easy for a decent man to sit around while his boss is trying to rob a helpless woman. I’ll just get a pen—oh, you’ve a fountain pen. Well, mother’ll sign right away, and our blessing’ll surely follow you on your way right back to the city.”

Jake Forner had departed and his coming had done more for the two bereft women than either of them was aware of. The paralysing effect of the newspaper story had given place to the reality of things. Grief was still driving them hard, but its pressure had somehow become less devastating, less numbing—more particularly was this the case with Claire.