m his guests."

She rose, and with a peculiarly sinuous movement threw out the train of
her dress, and swept languidly to the door Stafford offered her his arm
and they entered the drawing-room.

Her appearance naturally caused a little sensation, for some of the men
had learnt and told of the story of Stafford's plucky arrest of the
bolting horses, and the people were curious to see the father and
daughter who had been rescued, and who had proved to be friends of Sir
Stephen.

By a sort of tacit understanding, Lady Clausford, who was a
good-natured individual, was playing the part of hostess and general
chaperon, and Stafford led Miss Falconer up to her.

Before a quarter of an hour had passed Miss Falconer seemed to be quite
at home in her novel surroundings; and leaning back in her chair, and
slowly fanning herself, received with perfect self-possession the
attentions which her beauty, her costly dress, and her still more
costly jewels merited. Presently Stafford heard Lady Clansford ask her
to sing; and he went to conduct her to the piano.

"My music is upstairs in my box--but it does not matter: I will try and
remember something," she said. "I wonder what you like?" She raised her
eyes to his, as her fingers touched the keys. "The simple ballad would
be rather out of place, wouldn't it? Do you know this thing of
Wagner's?"

As she began to sing the talking died down and gradually ceased; and
every eye was fixed upon her; for it was evident that she not only had
an exquisite voice, but knew how to use it. She sang like an artist,
and apparently without the least effort, the liquid notes flowing from
her red lips like the water of a mountain rill.

Stafford was surprised, almost startled, but as he stood beside her, he
was thinking, strangely enough, not so much of the singer as of the
girl he was going to meet on the morrow. When she had finished, there
was a general murmur of applause, and Lady Clansford glided to the
piano and asked her to sing again.

"You have a really wonderful voice, Miss Falconer. I don't think Melba
ever sang that better."

"Melba's register is ever so much greater than mine," remarked Miss
Falconer, calmly. "No, thanks; I won't sing again. I think I am a
little tired."

She went back to her seat slowly, her fan moving languidly, as if she
were too conscious of the worth of her voice to be affected by the
murmurs of applause and admiration; and Stafford, as his eyes followed
he