Stafford nodded.

"Yes; I'm jolly glad no one answered the advertis.e.m.e.nt for its owner."

She bent over and stroked the terrier, who always seemed uneasy under her caress, and her hand touched Stafford's. She glanced at him as it did so, but the white hand so soft and warm might have been a piece of senseless wood for all its effect upon him whose soul was still thrilling with Ida Heron's touch; and with a tightening of the lips, she took her hand away and leant back, but her eyes still clung to him, as, all unconscious, he bent over the dog.

At that moment a carriage drove up, and Mr. Falconer alighted. He came up the steps, his heavy face grave and yet alert; and his keen eyes glanced at the pair as they sat side by side. Stafford looked up and nodded.

"Glad to see you back, Mr. Falconer," he said, pleasantly. "Stands London where it did?"

"Pretty much so, yes," responded Mr. Falconer, grimly. "Yes, plenty of other thing change, have their day and cease to be, but the little village keeps its end up and sees things--and men--come and go, flare up, flicker and fizzle out. No, thanks; I'll have some tea in my room."

"And like a dutiful daughter, I will go and pour it out for him," said Maude.

She rose--Tiny rose also, and barked at her--followed her father to his room and stood watching him as he took off his frock-coat--he had no valet--and slowly put on a loose jacket.

"Well?" she said, at last.

He sank into a chair and looked up at her with a sardonic smile on his face.

"Yes, I'm back," he said. "I hurried back because Sir Stephen is going to sign the articles to-night, going to bring the thing to a conclusion."

She nodded, her eyes fixed on his hawk-like ones with a calm but keen watchfulness.

"And you? Have you--"

He leant forward, and held out one claw-like hand, open.

"Yes, I've got him fast and tight." His hand closed, and his eyes shot a swift, lurid gleam from under their half-lowered lids. "I've got him as in a vice; I've only to turn the screw and--I squeeze him as flat and dry as a lemon." She drew a long breath of satisfaction, of relief.

"You are clever!" she said. "And in one fortnight."

He smiled grimly.

"Yes; it is sharp work; and it has taken some doing--and some money.

But I've worked it. Black Steve--I mean Sir Stephen Orme, the great Sir Stephen--is under my thumb. To-night, the night of his triumph, I am going to crack him like an egg."

"You will ruin him?" she said.

"That is it," he said, with a nod. "I shall ruin him!"

"Is there no escape?" she asked in a low voice.

"None," he replied, grimly. "I tell you that nothing can save him."

"Excepting one thing," she said in so low a voice that it sounded as if she were speaking to herself.

"Eh?" he said, as if he had not caught the words. "What is it you mean: what can save him, what is this one thing?"

His heavy brows came done, and he frowned at her.

She raised her eyes, cold and glittering like steel, and met his frown unflinchingly.

"The marriage of his son Stafford with your daughter," she said, slowly, calmly.

CHAPTER XX.

Mr. Falconer started and stared at her, his heavy face growing a dust-red, his eyes distended with amazement and anger.

"Are you out of your mind?" he said at last, and frowning at her in a kind of perplexity. "'Pon my soul, Maude, I'm never quite certain whether you are in jest or earnest! If this is intended for a joke, permit me to tell you I consider it in vilely bad taste."

"I am not jesting," she said, very quietly, her chin in her hand, her blue eyes fixed on his unblushingly. "I am in the most sober, the most serious earnest, I a.s.sure you."

He rose, then sank into the chair again, and sighed impatiently.

"Do you mean to say that you--that he--Confound it If ever there was a man to be pitied, it is the one who has the honour to be your father, Maude."

"Why?" she asked, calmly. "Have I not been a dutiful daughter? Have I ever given you any trouble, deceived you? Am I not perfectly frank with you at this moment?" He rose and paced to the mantel-shelf, and leaning against it, looked down upon her, the frown still on his heavy face, his hands thrust deeply in his pockets.

"You've always been a puzzle to me," he said, more to himself than to her. "Ever since you were born I've felt uncertain about you--you're like your mother. But never mind that. What game is this you're carrying on?"

"One in which I mean to win," she replied, slowly, meditatively. "Have you not seen--How slow to perceive, even you, a reputedly clever man, can be! I don't suppose there is a woman in the house who has not detected the fact that I am in love with Stafford Orme, though I have tried to hide it from them--and you will admit that I am not a bad actress."

"In love with Stafford Orme!" His face darkened. "No, I did not know it. Why---what the devil does he mean by not coming to me!" he broke out angrily, harshly.

She smiled.

"He hasn't come to ask you for me, because--well, he doesn't want me,"

she said in a low voice.

"What!" he exclaimed below his breath. "Do you mean to tell me that--that--Why, you can't have the shamelessness to care for the man without--until--"

She broke in upon his burst of indignation with a low, clear laugh, and there was no shame in her voice or eyes, as she said:

"Would it be so shameful if I have? My dear father, you and I should differ on that point. We are told that we are made for love and to be loved, that it is our proper and natural destiny. Why, then, should we be ashamed of it. None of us are in reality; we only pretend to be. It is part of the world's system of hypocrisy to a.s.sume an incapacity for loving a man until he has asked you; to pretend an utter indifference until he has said the magic words, 'I love you.' As if love could wait, ever did wait, ever will! Anyway, mine did not! And I am no different to other women--only more candid."

"By Heaven, you make me feel--mad!" he said, with suppressed anger.

"You tell me unblushingly, to my face, that you have fallen in love with the son of my old enemy, that you want to marry him--you ask me to help you, to--to forego my just revenge, to use my hold over him as a lever, to induce him, force him--Good G.o.d! have you no sense of right or wrong, are you utterly devoid of--of modesty, of womanly pride!"

He glowered down upon her with flushed face and angry eyes; but she was quite unmoved by his outburst, and still met his gaze steadily, almost reflectingly.

"A fortnight ago I should have asked myself that question--and as angrily as you; but I can't now. It has gone too far."

"Gone too far! You mean--"