If everybody was not enjoying himself at the Villa it certainly was not

the fault of the host, Sir Stephen Orme. Howard, as he drew his chair

up beside Stafford, when the ladies had left the room after dinner, and

the gentlemen had begun to glance longingly at the rare Chateau claret

and the Windermere port, made a remark to this effect: "Upon my word, Staff, it is the most brilliant house-party which I have

ever joined; and as to your father in his character of host--Well,

words fail to express my admiration."

Stafford glanced at his father at the head of the table and nodded. Sir

Stephen had been the life and soul and spring of the dinner; talking

fashionable gossip to Lady Fitzharford on one side of him, and a "giddy

girl of twenty" on the other; exchanging badinage with "Bertie," and

telling deeply interesting stories to the men; and he was now dragging

reluctant laughter from the grim Baron Wirsch and the almost grimmer

Griffenberg, as he saw with one eye that the wine was circulating, and

with the other that no one was being overlooked or allowed to drop into

dullness.

"A most marvellous man! Nearly all the morning he was closeted with the

financiers; in the afternoon he went for a ride with Lady Clansford; he

was in attendance at the solemn function of afternoon tea; he played

croquet--and played it well--at half-past five; at six I saw him

walking round the grounds with the Effords and the Fitzharfords, and

now he is laughing and talking with the _abandon_ of a boy of

five-and-twenty, while the boy of five-and-twenty sits here as grave

and silent as if he had been working like a horse--or a Sir Stephen

Orme--instead of fooling about the lake with the most beautiful woman

in the party."

"And his friend has spent the day in a deck-chair on the terrace,"

retorted Stafford.

"At any rate, I have been out of mischief," said Howard. Then he

remembered his wager with Maude Falconer, and added, rather

remorsefully: "At least I hope so. By the way, don't you echo my

expression of opinion that Miss Falconer is the most beautiful woman

here--or elsewhere?"

Stafford woke from the reverie into which he nearly always dropped when

Howard was talking, and nodded indifferently.

"Oh, yes; she is lovely, of course."

"How good of you, how kind and gracious!" retorted Howard, ironically.

"So my prince deigns to approve of her? And you also condescended to

admit that she is--er--rather clever?"




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