ple, while you, with all your money, are"--she
shrugged her shoulders--"well, just nobody."

His face grew dark. She was playing on him as a musician plays on an
instrument with which he is completely familiar.

"What the devil do you mean?" he muttered.

"If I were a man, in your place, I would have the great Sir Stephen at
my feet, to make or to break as I pleased. I would never rest until I
could be able to say: 'You're a great man in the world's eyes, but I am
your master; you are my puppet, and you have to dance to my music,
whether the tune be a dead march or a jig.' That is what I should do if
I were a man; but I am only a girl, and it seems to me nowadays that
men have more of the woman in them than we have."

He stopped and stared at her in the moonlight, a dark frown on his
face, his eyes heavy with doubt and suspicion.

"Look here, my girl," he said, "you are showing up in a new light
to-night. You are talking as your mother used to talk. And you aren't
doing it without a purpose. What is it? What grudge can you, a mere
girl who has only known him for a couple of days, have against Sir
Stephen?"

She smiled.

"Let us say that I am only concerned for my father's wounded pride and
honour," she said. "Or let us say that I _have_ a game of my own to
play, and that I am asking you to help me while you gratify your own
desire for revenge. Will you help me?"

"Tell me--tell me what your game is. Good Lord!"--with a scowl. "Fancy
you having a game: it's--it's ridiculous!"

"Almost as ridiculous as calling me a girl and expecting to see me
playing with a doll or a hoop," she returned, calmly. "But you needn't
reply. I can see you mean to do it, like a good and indulgent father;
and some day, perhaps soon, I will, like a good and dutiful daughter,
tell you why I wanted you to do it. Is that you, Mr. Orme? Will I come
and sing? Oh, yes, if you wish it. Where is the little dog?" she asked,
looking up at him with a new expression in her languorous eyes, as she
glided beside him.

"Asleep on my bed," replied Stafford, with a laugh. "My man has turned
him off and made him a luxurious couch with cushions three or four
times, but he would persist on getting on again, so he'll have to stay,
I suppose?"

"Are you always so good-natured?" she asked, in a low voice. "Or do you
reserve all your tenderness of heart for dogs and horses--as Mr. Howard
declares?"

"Mr. Howard is too often an ass," remarked Stafford, wi