th a smile.

"You shall choose your song, as a reward for your exertions this
afternoon," she said, as he led her to the piano.

Most of the men in the crowd waiting eagerly for the exquisite voice
would have been moved to the heart's core by her tone and the
expression in her usually cold eyes, but Stafford was clothed in the
armour of his great love, and only inclined his head.

"Thanks: anything you like," he said, with the proper amount of
gratitude.

She shot a glance at him and sank into the music-seat languidly. But a
moment afterwards, as if she could not help herself, she was singing a
Tuscan love-song with a subdued passion which thrilled even the _blase_
audience clustered round her. It thrilled Stafford; but only with the
desire to be near Ida. A desire that became irresistible; and when she
had finished he left the room, caught up his hat and overcoat and went
out of the house.

As he did so, Mr. Falconer walked past him into the smoking-room. Mr.
Griffenberg was alone there, seated in a big arm-chair with a cigar as
black as a hat and as long as a penholder.

Falconer wheeled a chair up to him, and, in his blunt fashion, said:

"You are in this railway scheme of Orme's, Griffenberg?" Mr.
Griffenberg nodded.

"And you?"

"Yes," said Falconer, succinctly. "I am joining. I suppose it's all
right; Orme will be able to carry it through?"

Griffenberg emitted a thick cloud of smoke.

"It will try him a bit. It's a question of capital--ready capital. I'm
helping him: got his Oriental shares as cover. A bit awkward for me,
for I'm rather pushed just now--that estate loan, you know."

Falconer nodded. "I know. See here: I'll take those shares from you, if
you like, and if you'll say nothing about it."

Mr. Griffenberg eyed his companion's rugged face keenly.

"What for?" he asked.

Mr. Falconer smiled.

"That's my business," he said. "The only thing that matters to you is,
that by taking the shares off your hands I shall be doing you a
service."

"That's true: you shall have 'em," said Mr. Griffenberg; "but I warn
you it's a heavy lot."

"You shall have a cheque to-morrow," said Mr. Falconer. "Where did you
get that cigar: it takes my fancy?"

Mr. Griffenberg produced his cigar case with alacrity: he liked Mr.
Falconer's way of doing business.

At the moment Stafford left the Villa, Ida was standing by the window
in the drawing-room of Heron Hall. On the table beside her lay a book
which