At Love's Cost

Pottinger nodded and turned the straw in his mouth.

"If you're alludin' to Mr. Stafford, then you'll enjoy your work, Mr.

Davis; for you've got what you want. What my guv'nor don't know about a

'oss isn't worth knowing."

"So I should say," assented Davis, emphatically. "I do hate to have a

juggins about the place. Barker, _is_ that a spot o' rust on that

pillar-chain, or is my eyesight deceiving me? No, my men, if there's

the slightest thing askew when Mr. Stafford walks round, I shall break

my heart--and sack the man who's responsible for it. Pottinger, if

you'd like that pair o' yours moved, if you think they ain't

comfortable, you say so, and moved they shall be."

As Sir Stephen and Stafford strolled back to the house the former

paused now and again to point out something he wished Stafford to see,

always appealing for his approval.

"Everything is perfect, sir," Stafford said at last. "And, above all,

the situation," he added as he looked at the magnificent view, the opal

lake mirroring the distant mountains, flecked by the sunlight and the

drifting clouds.

"Yes, I was fortunate in getting it," remarked Sir Stephen.

Instantly there flashed across Stafford's mind--and not for the first

time that morning--the words Ida Heron had spoken respecting the way in

which Sir Stephen had obtained the land. Looking straight before him,

he asked: "How did you get it, sir? I have heard that it was difficult to buy

land here for building purposes."

"Yes, I fancy it is," replied Sir Stephen, quite easily. "Now you speak

of it, I remember my agent said there was some hitch at first; but he

must have got over it in some way or other. He bought it of a farmer."

Stafford drew a breath of relief. "This is the Italian garden; the

tennis and croquet lawns are below this terrace--there's not time to go

down. But you haven't seen half of it yet. There's the breakfast-bell.

Don't trouble to change: I like you in those flannels." He laid his

hand on Stafford's broad, straight shoulder. "You have the knack of

wearing your clothes as if they grew on you, Staff."

Stafford laughed.

"I ought to hand that compliment on to Measom, sir," he said; "he's the

responsible person and deserves the credit, if there is any." He looked

at his father's upright, well-dressed and graceful figure. "But he

would hand it back to you, I think, sir."