"Any more?"

"Oh, yes. There are the two Beltons and George Levinson, to say nothing of Mr. Griffinberg, the railroad king."

Stafford stared at his claret gla.s.s.

"I wonder why the governor has asked such a crowd?" he said, musingly.

"A perfectly arranged symphony in colours, I call it," said Howard.

"Fashion is represented by the Fitzharfords and old Lady Clansford; politics by Efford and the Beltons, and finance by Plaistow and Wirsch.

That Griffinberg is coming is a proof that Sir Stephen has got 'a little railway' in his mind; there are several others who seem to have been thrown in, not to increase weight, but to lighten it. It will be rather amusing--a kind of menagerie which, under less skilful guidance than Sir Stephen's, might be sure to disagree and fight."

Stafford sighed.

"Oh, you'll be all right," he said; "but I don't quite see where I shall come in."

Howard laughed.

"My dear Stafford, there are some extremely pretty girls with whom you can flirt, and I've no doubt some of the men will join you in your eccentric attempts to drown yourself or break your neck. _Is_ that the sun coming out, and is it going to clear?"

"I hope so," said Stafford, laughing. "For I prophesied a fine evening, and a lady was weak enough to take my word for it. Let us go and rake my father out of the library, and get him into the garden with a cigar."

"You may venture upon such an audacity, but not I," said Howard, with simulated fear. "I'll wait for you on the terrace."

Sir Stephen looked up with a frown as Stafford entered, and the dark-faced secretary stared aghast at the intrusion; but Sir Stephen's face cleared as he saw who it was.

"Back, Stafford?" he said. "What? Come into the garden--cigar?

Certainly! You can finish up, can't you, Murray? Thanks!" He looked at his watch as they went through the hall. "I suppose some of the people will be here before long. Did Mr. Howard show you the list? Do you know any of them. Stafford?"

"Yes, I've met Lady Clansford and the Fitzharfords, of course; but most of them are too great and lofty. I mean that they are celebrated personages, out of my small track. One doesn't often meet Sir William Plaistow and Mr. Griffinberg at at homes and afternoon teas." Sir Stephen laughed.

"Oh, well, you mustn't let them bore you, you know, my boy. You must consider yourself quite free to cut off and amuse yourself some other way whenever you get tired of them."

"And leave it all to you, sir!" said Stafford, with a smile; but as he spoke he drew a breath of relief; he should be free to help the beautiful, lovely girl of Herondale.

A few hours later the visitors arrived, and before dinner the superb drawing-room was, if not crowded, sufficiently well filled with the brilliant company.

Nearly all the guests were extremely wealthy, most of them were powerful, either in the region of politics or finance; and the fashionable world was represented by some beautiful women with dresses and diamonds above reproach, and some young men whose names stood high at Hurlingham and Prinses.

Stafford stood beside his father as Sir Stephen went from group to group, greeting one and another in his frank and genial yet polished manner, which grew warm and marked by scarcely repressed pride, as he introduced Stafford.

"My son, Lady Fitzharford. I think he has had the pleasure of meeting you? I scarcely know who are his friends: we have been separated so long! But we are restored to each other at last, I am happy to say!

Lady Clansford, you know my boy? Ah, he has had the advantage of me all these years; he has not had to rush all over Europe, but has been able to bask in the sunshine of grace and beauty. Griffinberg, I want my son to know you. You and I are such old friends that you won't mind me showing that I am proud of him, eh?" and he laid his hand on Stafford's shoulder with an air of pride and affection.

"What a lovely place Sir Stephen has made of this, Mr. Orme," said Lady Clansford; "we were quite startled as we drove up, and simply bewildered when we got inside. This room is really--oh well, I'm beggared for adjectives!"

Stafford went about, listening to the encomiums on his father or the house, and making appropriate responses; but he was rather relieved when the butler announced dinner.

The dining-room received its meed of praise from the guests, and the elaborate _menu_ caused some of the men to beam with inward satisfaction. It was a superb dinner, served with a stateliness which could not have been exceeded if royalty had been amongst the guests.

The plate was magnificent, the flowers arranged by an artist's hand, in rich and yet chaste abundance. Stafford, as he looked from the bottom of the table to Sir Stephen at the head, felt with a thrill of pride that his father was the most distinguished-looking man of them all; and he noticed that in the tone of both the men and the women who addressed him there was that subtle note which indicates respect and the consideration which men and women of the world pay to one who has achieved greatness.

And yet, he noticed also, that not one of them was more perfectly at his ease than Sir Stephen, who laughed and talked as if his only aim was that of enjoyment, and as if he had never "planned a plan or schemed a scheme." Every now and then Stafford caught his father's eye, and each time he did so, Sir Stephen smiled at him with that air of pride and affection which he made no attempt to conceal or check. Once or twice Howard, too, caught his eye and smiled significantly as if he were saying, "How is this for a successful party?"

The dinner went swimmingly, and when the ladies had retired Sir Stephen begged the men to close up, and pa.s.sed the wine freely. The talk was of everything but politics or business--Stafford remarked that not a word was said of either topic; and Sir Stephen told one or two stories admirably and set the laughter going.

"What sort of a night is it, Stafford?" he asked, presently.

Stafford drew the curtain from the open French window, and the moonlight streamed in to fight with the electric lamps.

"Shall we go out on to the terrace?" said Sir Stephen. "Quite warm enough, isn't it?"

They went out; servants brought coffee and cigars, and some of the gentlemen sauntered up and down the terrace, and others went down into the garden. Sir Stephen linked his arm in Stafford's, and they walked a little apart along one of the smooth paths.

"Not bored, I hope, my boy?" he asked.

"Good gracious, no, sir!" replied Stafford. "I don't think I remember a more successful dinner. Why should I be bored?"

"That's all right!" said Sir Stephen, pressing his arm. "I was afraid you might be. They are not a bad set--the men, I mean--if you keep them off their hobbies; and we managed to do that, I think."

"Yes, I noticed you managed them very well, sir," said Stafford. "What a lovely night." They had reached a gate opening on to the road, and they stood and looked at the view in silence for a moment, listening to a nightingale, whose clear notes joined with the voices and laughter of the guests.

Suddenly another sound came upon the night air; a clatter of horses'

hoofs and the rattle of wheels.

"Someone driving down the road," said Sir Stephen.

"And coming at a deuce of a pace!" said Stafford. He opened the gate and looked up the road; then he uttered an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

"By George! they've bolted!" he said, in his quiet way.

"What?" asked Sir Stephen, as he, too, came out. The carriage was tearing down the hill towards them in the moonlight, and Stafford saw that the horses were rushing along with lowered heads and that the driver had lost all control of them.

As they came towards the two men, Stafford set off running towards them. Sir Stephen called him; Stafford took no heed, and as the horses came up to him he sprang at the head of the nearer one. There was a scramble, a scuffing of hoofs, and a loud, shrill shriek from the interior of the carriage; then the horses were forced on to their haunches, and Stafford scrambled to his feet from the road into which he had been hustled.

The driver jumped down and ran to the horses' heads, the carriage door was flung open and the gentleman of the inn leapt out. Leapt out almost on to Sir Stephen, who ran up breathless with apprehension on Stafford's account. The two men stood and looked at each other in the moonlight, at first with a confused and bewildered gaze, then Sir Stephen started back with a cry, a strange cry, which brought Stafford to his side.

At the same moment, the girl he had seen in the sitting-room at the inn, slipped out of the carriage.

"Are we safe?" she asked faintly. "How did we stop? Who--"

She stopped abruptly, and both she and Stafford stared at the two men who were standing confronting each other. Sir Stephen was as white as a ghost, and there was a look of absolute terror in his dark eyes. On the face of the other man was an enigmatical smile, which was more bitter than a sneer.

"You are all right?" said Stafford; "but I am afraid you were very much frightened!"

The girl turned to him. "You!" she said, recognising him. "Did you stop them?"

"Yes; it was easy: they had had almost enough," he said.

While they were speaking, the two elder men drew apart as if instinctively.