At Love's Cost

As they entered the hall, Howard came lounging out, in his leisurely

way, from the drawing-room, and at sight of him Stafford seemed to

awake, to realise what he had done and how he stood. He looked from

Howard to Maude, then, he said: "Howard, I want you to congratulate me. Miss Falconer--Maude--has

promised to be my wife."

Howard did not start, but he stared in silence for an instant, then his

eyelids flickered, and forcing the astonishment from his face, he took

Stafford's left hand and shook it, and bowed to Maude.

"I do congratulate you with all my heart, my dear Stafford, and I hope

you'll both be as happy as the happiest pair in a fairy story."

She drew her arm from Stafford's.

"I will go up now," she said. "Good-night!"

Stafford stood until she had got as far as the bend of the stairs; then

Howard, who had discreetly gone on, turned to go back to him. But as he

came up with a word of wonder and repeated congratulations, he saw

Stafford put his hand to his forehead, and, as it seemed to Howard,

almost stagger.

There are moments when the part of even one's best friend is silence,

blindness. Howard turned aside, and Stafford went on slowly, with a

kind of enforced steadiness, to the billiard-room. While Howard, with

dismay and apprehension, was looking after him, he heard "Mr. Howard!"

called softly, mockingly, from the stairs, and looking up, saw Maude

Falconer leaning over, with her arm extended, her hand open.

He understood in a moment, and, removing his ring as he ran up the

stairs, put it in the soft, pink palm. She gave a little triumphant,

mocking laugh, her hand closed over the ring, and then she glided away

from him.

The smoking-room was crowded as Stafford made his way in. Through the

clouds of smoke he saw his father standing at one end, surrounded by

the money-spinning crew, Falconer seated in a chair near him with a

black cigar between his lips. The group were laughing and talking

loudly, and all had glasses in their hands. Some of the younger men,

who had just come from the hall-room, were adding their laughter and

chatter to the noise. Dazed and confused, half mad with rage and

despair, with a sense that Fate was joining her mocking laughter with

that of the men round him. Stafford took a glass of wine from the

butler who advanced with it, and drinking it off, held it out to be

refilled. The man refilled it twice, and Stafford, his eyes aflame,

almost pushed his way through the various groups to where his father

stood.