"What rot!--I beg your pardon, Miss Falconer. Of course, I know you are
only chaffing me."
"Isn't it true--about the duchess, I mean?" she asked, so coolly, so
indifferently, that Stafford was compelled to take her seriously.
"Nary a word," he said, brightly; then, with a sudden gravity: "If you
happen to hear such nonsense again, Miss Falconer, you can, if you care
to, contradict it flatly. I am not in the least likely to marry a
duchess; indeed, I wouldn't marry the highest and greatest of them, if
she'd have me, which is highly improbable."
"Do you mean to say that you have no ambition, that you would marry
for--love?" she asked.
Stafford stopped rowing for a moment and looked at her grimly.
"What on earth else should I marry for?" he asked. "Wouldn't you?"
Before she could answer, the steamer came abreast of them, and so close
that the swell from its screw set the slight, narrow skiff dancing and
plunging on the waves.
Maude uttered a faint cry and leant forward, and Stafford, fearing she
was going to rise, stretched out his hand, and touching her knee,
forced her into her seat again, and kept her there until the swell had
subsided.
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