e rather erratic. Well, if he means settling, he's made
himself a very cosy nest." He looked round the magnificent room with a
curious smile. "A wonderful man, your father, Mr. Orme!"

"Yes?" said Stafford, with a non-committal smile.

"Yes; of course, I've heard of his great doings--who hasn't! Did you
ever hear him speak of me--we were great friends one time?"

"No, I don't think I have," replied Stafford. "But as I was telling
Miss Falconer, I have not seen very much of him." "Ah, yes, just so,"
assented Mr. Falconer, and he went on with his dinner.

Stafford had taken a seat at the table and poured out a glass of wine
so that they might not hurry; but he felt that he need not have been
anxious on that account, for the girl ate her dinner in a most
leisurely manner, talking to him in her soft, slow voice and looking at
him from under her half-closed lids. She talked of the scenery, of the
quaint inns and hotels they had put up at, of the various
inconveniences which she had suffered on the way; then suddenly she
raised her lids and looked at him fully and steadily.

"I suppose the young lady we saw with you this morning is your sister?"

With all his natural simplicity, Stafford was a man of the world, and
he did not redden or look embarrassed by the suddenness of the question
and the direct gaze of the luminous eyes.

"No," he said. "I have neither sister nor brother--only my father. She
was a friend."

"Oh," she said; then after a pause: "She was very pretty."

Stafford nodded. Like a flash floated before him the exquisite
loveliness of Ida Heron.

"Do you think so?" he said, with affected indifference.

"Why, yes; don't you?" she retorted.

"Oh, yes," he assented; "but I didn't know whether you would; men and
women so very seldom agree upon the question of looks. I find that most
of the women I think pretty are considered next door to plain by my
lady-friends."

"Well, there can't be any doubt as to your friend's good looks," she
said. "She made rather a striking, not to say startling figure perched
sideways on that horse, in the pelting rain. I suppose she is one of
your neighbours?"

"Yes," replied Stafford, as easily and casually as he could, for the
face still floated before him--"yes; but not a very near one. Let me
give you some more wine."

"No, thanks. Father, haven't you nearly finished? Mr. Orme has kept us
company so nicely that we've been tempted to forget that we are keeping
him fro