"A most marvellous man! Nearly all the morning he was closeted with the
financiers; in the afternoon he went for a ride with Lady Clansford; he
was in attendance at the solemn function of afternoon tea; he played
croquet--and played it well--at half-past five; at six I saw him
walking round the grounds with the Effords and the Fitzharfords, and
now he is laughing and talking with the _abandon_ of a boy of
five-and-twenty, while the boy of five-and-twenty sits here as grave
and silent as if he had been working like a horse--or a Sir Stephen
Orme--instead of fooling about the lake with the most beautiful woman
in the party."
"And his friend has spent the day in a deck-chair on the terrace,"
retorted Stafford.
"At any rate, I have been out of mischief," said Howard. Then he
remembered his wager with Maude Falconer, and added, rather
remorsefully: "At least I hope so. By the way, don't you echo my
expression of opinion that Miss Falconer is the most beautiful woman
here--or elsewhere?"
Stafford woke from the reverie into which he nearly always dropped when
Howard was talking, and nodded indifferently.
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