"You're
very much mistaken if you think my father is that kind of man."
She smiled.
"Why, everybody has some story of his--what shall I call
it?--acuteness, sharpness; and of the wonderful way in which he has
always got what he wanted. I don't want to be offensive, Mr. Orme, but
I'm afraid both our fathers are in the same category. And that both
would sacrifice anything or anyone to gain their ends."
Stafford laughed again.
"You're altogether wrong, Miss Falconer," he said. "I happen to know
that my governor is one of the most generous and tender-hearted of men
and that whatever he has gained it is by fair means, and by no
sacrifice of others."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I envy your faith in him. But then you are a very enviable man, I'm
told."
"As how?" asked Stafford. "Pretty here, isn't it? Here's one of those
beastly steamers coming: they spoil the lake, but they're very
convenient, I suppose."
She glanced at the big steamer puffing towards them obtrusively and
sending a trail of smoke across the green and violet of the hills.
"Oh, I'm told you are the most popular man in London; that you have the
world at your feet, that you are only waiting to see which duchess you
prefer to throw your handkerchief to--"
Stafford coloured.
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