aron Wirsch, Mr. Griffenberg, and the other
financiers. They are doubtless engaged in some mystic rites connected
with the worship of the Golden Calf, rites in which the words 'shares,'
'stocks,' 'diamonds,' 'concessions,' appear at frequent intervals. I
suppose your father, having joined them, is a member of the
all-powerful sect of money-worshippers."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I suppose so. And Mr. Orme--is he one of them?" she asked, with
elaborate indifference.

Howard smiled cynically.

"Stafford! No; all that he knows about money is the art of spending it;
and what he doesn't know about that isn't worth knowing. It slips
through his fingers like water through a sieve; and one of those
mysteries which burden my existence is, how he always manages to have
some for a friend up a tree."

"Is he so generous, then?" she asked, with a delicate yawn behind her
hand.

Howard nodded, and was silent for a moment, then he said musingly:

"You've got on my favorite subject--Stafford--Miss Falconer. And I warn
you that if I go on I shall bore you."

"Well, I can get up and go away," she said, languidly. "He is a friend
of yours, I suppose? By the way, did you know that he stopped those
ridiculous horses last night and probably saved my life?"

"For goodness sake don't let him hear you say that, or even guess that
you think it," he said, with an affectation of alarm. "Stafford would
be inexpressibly annoyed. He hates a fuss even more than most
Englishmen, and would take it very unkindly if you didn't let a little
thing like that pass unnoticed. Oh, yes, I am his greatest friend. I
don't think"--slowly and contemplatively--"that there is anything he
wouldn't do for me or anything I wouldn't do for him--excepting get up
early--go out in the rain--Oh, it isn't true! I'm only bragging," he
broke off, with a groan. "I've done both and shall do them whenever he
wants me to. I'm a poor creature, Miss Falconer." "A martyr on the
altar of friendship," she said. "Mr. Orme must be very irresistible."

"He is," he assented, with an air of profound melancholy. "Stafford has
the extremely unpleasant knack of getting everybody to do what he
wants. It's very disgusting, but it's true. That is why he is so
general a favourite. Why, if you walk into any drawing-room and asked
who was the most popular man in London, the immediate and unanimous
reply would be 'Stafford Orme.'"

She settled the cushions a little more comfortably.