At Love's Cost

"I daresay," said Stafford. "I've seen so little of her. She seems to

me rather _blasé_ and cold."

Howard nodded.

"Yes; but the worst of it is, you can't count upon that kind of girl:

they are apt to warm up sometimes, and quite unexpectedly: and when

they do they--well, they boil like a geyser or a volcano. And

then--well, then it is wise to get out of reach. I once knew a woman

who was considered to be as cold as charity--or a rich relation--but

who caught fire one day and burnt up the man who ignited her. Of course

this is my delicate way of saying: 'Beware, oh, my prince!'"

Stafford smiled. Miss Falconer's nature was a matter of profound

indifference to him. There was only one woman on whom he could bestow a

thought, and he was thinking of her now, wondering when he should see

her, whether he might dare to tell her of his love again, to ask her

for her answer.

Once or twice his father looked across at him, and nodded and smiled as

if he loved to see him, and wanted to speak to him; and Stafford smiled

and nodded back, as if he understood.

When the men rose to go to the drawing-room, Sir Stephen caught him up

at the door, and laid a hand upon his arm.

"Happy, dear boy?" he asked in a low voice, full of affection. "I've

seen scarcely anything of you. No, no, I'm not complaining! It was

understood that you were to have a free hand--but--but I've missed you!

Never mind; this crowd will have gone presently, and then--ah, then

we'll have a jolly time to ourselves! Things are going well," he added,

with a significant smile, as he glanced at Wirsch and Griffenberg, who,

well-fed and comfortable, were in front of them.

"I'm glad, sir," said Stafford.

Sir Stephen smiled, but checked a sigh and a shrug of the shoulders.

"Yes, my little schemes are flourishing; but"--he looked at the

financiers again--"they are rather a hard team to drive!"

As Stafford entered the drawing-room, he heard Lady Clansford enquiring

for Miss Falconer.

"We want her to sing, Mr. Orme, and I cannot find her."

"I think she is on the terrace," said Bertie, who always seemed to know

where everybody was.

Stafford went out by one of the windows, and saw Maude Falconer pacing

up and down at the end of the terrace. She was superbly dressed, and as

he looked at her, he involuntarily admired the grace of her movements.

Mr. Falconer was walking with bent head and hands behind his back; but

now and again he looked at her sideways with his sharp eyes. Stafford

did not like to interrupt them, and withdrew to the other end of the

terrace, with a cigarette, to wait till they joined him.