and talking with the _abandon_ of a boy of
five-and-twenty, while the boy of five-and-twenty sits here as grave
and silent as if he had been working like a horse--or a Sir Stephen
Orme--instead of fooling about the lake with the most beautiful woman
in the party."

"And his friend has spent the day in a deck-chair on the terrace,"
retorted Stafford.

"At any rate, I have been out of mischief," said Howard. Then he
remembered his wager with Maude Falconer, and added, rather
remorsefully: "At least I hope so. By the way, don't you echo my
expression of opinion that Miss Falconer is the most beautiful woman
here--or elsewhere?"

Stafford woke from the reverie into which he nearly always dropped when
Howard was talking, and nodded indifferently.

"Oh, yes; she is lovely, of course."

"How good of you, how kind and gracious!" retorted Howard, ironically.
"So my prince deigns to approve of her? And you also condescended to
admit that she is--er--rather clever?"

"I daresay," said Stafford. "I've seen so little of her. She seems to
me rather _blase_ and cold."

Howard nodded.

"Yes; but the worst of it is, you can't count upon that kind of girl:
they are apt to warm up sometimes, and quite unexpectedly: and when
they do they--well, they boil like a geyser or a volcano. And
then--well, then it is wise to get out of reach. I once knew a woman
who was considered to be as cold as charity--or a rich relation--but
who caught fire one day and burnt up the man who ignited her. Of course
this is my delicate way of saying: 'Beware, oh, my prince!'"

Stafford smiled. Miss Falconer's nature was a matter of profound
indifference to him. There was only one woman on whom he could bestow a
thought, and he was thinking of her now, wondering when he should see
her, whether he might dare to tell her of his love again, to ask her
for her answer.

Once or twice his father looked across at him, and nodded and smiled as
if he loved to see him, and wanted to speak to him; and Stafford smiled
and nodded back, as if he understood.

When the men rose to go to the drawing-room, Sir Stephen caught him up
at the door, and laid a hand upon his arm.

"Happy, dear boy?" he asked in a low voice, full of affection. "I've
seen scarcely anything of you. No, no, I'm not complaining! It was
understood that you were to have a free hand--but--but I've missed you!
Never mind; this crowd will have gone presently, and then--ah, then
we'll have a joll