At Love's Cost

"She is very beautiful," said Howard; "and I can condole with you

sincerely on the loss of your dance."

"Yes, it's nearly over now," said Bertie, with a sigh. "Talking of

Stafford," he said, after a minute, "when did you hear from him last?"

"To-day," replied Howard. "I have his letter in my pocket."

"Still out in the backwoods?" asked Bertie. "Poor old chap! awful piece

of luck for him! If his father had only gone on living and waited until

that blessed company had come right side uppermost, he'd have been a

millionaire. Look at Griffenberg and the rest of 'em!" he nodded

towards the group of financiers; "they're simply rolling in money,

rolling in it."

"Yes, he's still in the backwoods, as you call it," responded Howard;

"and from what he says I should think he's having a pretty hard time of

it; though, of course, he doesn't complain: there are some men still

left who don't complain." There was a pause, during which he had been

thinking deeply, then he said: "So Stafford knew Miss Heron, did he?"

Bertie looked mysterious and lowered his voice.

"Yes. Look here, old chap, I shouldn't say this to anyone but you; but

you are Stafford's great and only chum, and I know I can speak safely;

to tell you the truth--"

"Now you are going to tell me anything but the truth," murmured Howard,

with a sigh of resignation.

"Oh, no, I'm not," retorted Bertie. "What there is of it is the truth

and nothing but the truth. It isn't much. But I've a kind of idea that

Stafford knew our new beauty better than we think. Do you remember how

he used to leave our party and go off by himself? Not like Stafford,

that, was it? And one of our fellows remarked to me that one day coming

home from a ride he saw Stafford riding with a lady. He couldn't swear

to him, but--well, Stafford's hard to mistake. Then, again, how was it

he and Miss Heron were in at Maude Falconer's death; and why did he

bolt off to Australia again directly after the funeral? And why is it

that she keeps us all at arm's length, even that confounded Glarn?"

Howard's eyes grew sharp; but he smiled languidly, as he said: "You ought to edit a riddle book, Bertie, my son. I think we should get

across the room now. I should be greatly obliged if you would introduce

me to Miss Heron."