rd. It is nothing."

Then he linked his arm in Howard's and led him into the billiard-room.

"Table all right, Stafford?"

"First-rate, sir," replied Stafford. "You and Mr. Howard play a
hundred."

"No, no," said Sir Stephen. "You and Howard. I should enjoy looking
on."

"We'll have a pool," said Stafford, taking the balls from the cabinet.
Howard watched Sir Stephen as he played his first shot: his hand was
perfectly steady, and he soon showed that he was a first-rate player.

"That was a good shot," said Stafford, with a touch of pride in his
voice. "I don't know that I've seen a better. You play a good game,
sir."

Sir Stephen's face flushed at his son's praise, as a girl's might have
done; but he laughed it off.

"Only so, so, Staff. I don't play half as good a game as you and Mr.
Howard. How should I?--Mr. Howard, there is the spirit-stand. You'll
help yourself? Servants are a nuisance in a billiard-room."

Not once for the rest of the evening did he show any sign of the
weakness which had so startled Howard, and as they went up the stairs
he told them a story with admirable verve and with evident enjoyment.

"Sorry our evening has come to an end," he said as they stood outside
his door. "It is the last we shall have to ourselves. Pity. But it
can't be helped."

Unconsciously he opened the door as he spoke, and Stafford said:

"Is this your room, sir?"

"Yes; walk in, my boy," replied Sir Stephen.

Stafford walked in and stood stock-still with amazement. The room was
as plainly furnished as a servant's--more plainly, probably, than the
servants who were housed under his roof. Saving for a square of carpet
by the bed and dressing-table the floor was bare; the bed was a common
one of iron, narrow and without drapery, the furniture was of painted
deal. The only picture was a portrait of Stafford enlarged from a
photograph, and it hung over the mantel-piece so that Sir Stephen could
see it from the bed. Of course neither Stafford nor Howard made any
remark.

"Remember that portrait, Stafford?" asked Sir Stephen, with a smile. "I
carry it about with me wherever I go. Foolish and fond old father, eh,
Mr. Howard? It's a good portrait, don't you think?"

Stafford held out his hand.

"Good-night, sir," he said in a very low voice.

"Good-night, my boy! Sure you've got everything you want? And you, Mr.
Howard? Don't let me disturb you in the morning. I've got a stupid
habit of getting up early--got it