miled.

"Why, everybody has some story of his--what shall I call
it?--acuteness, sharpness; and of the wonderful way in which he has
always got what he wanted. I don't want to be offensive, Mr. Orme, but
I'm afraid both our fathers are in the same category. And that both
would sacrifice anything or anyone to gain their ends."

Stafford laughed again.

"You're altogether wrong, Miss Falconer," he said. "I happen to know
that my governor is one of the most generous and tender-hearted of men
and that whatever he has gained it is by fair means, and by no
sacrifice of others."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I envy your faith in him. But then you are a very enviable man, I'm
told."

"As how?" asked Stafford. "Pretty here, isn't it? Here's one of those
beastly steamers coming: they spoil the lake, but they're very
convenient, I suppose."

She glanced at the big steamer puffing towards them obtrusively and
sending a trail of smoke across the green and violet of the hills.

"Oh, I'm told you are the most popular man in London; that you have the
world at your feet, that you are only waiting to see which duchess you
prefer to throw your handkerchief to--"

Stafford coloured.

"What rot!--I beg your pardon, Miss Falconer. Of course, I know you are
only chaffing me."

"Isn't it true--about the duchess, I mean?" she asked, so coolly, so
indifferently, that Stafford was compelled to take her seriously.

"Nary a word," he said, brightly; then, with a sudden gravity: "If you
happen to hear such nonsense again, Miss Falconer, you can, if you care
to, contradict it flatly. I am not in the least likely to marry a
duchess; indeed, I wouldn't marry the highest and greatest of them, if
she'd have me, which is highly improbable."

"Do you mean to say that you have no ambition, that you would marry
for--love?" she asked.

Stafford stopped rowing for a moment and looked at her grimly.

"What on earth else should I marry for?" he asked. "Wouldn't you?"

Before she could answer, the steamer came abreast of them, and so close
that the swell from its screw set the slight, narrow skiff dancing and
plunging on the waves.

Maude uttered a faint cry and leant forward, and Stafford, fearing she
was going to rise, stretched out his hand, and touching her knee,
forced her into her seat again, and kept her there until the swell had
subsided.

The colour flooded her face at the pressure of his strong hand, which
was like a steel weig