She was superbly dressed, and as
he looked at her, he involuntarily admired the grace of her movements.
Mr. Falconer was walking with bent head and hands behind his back; but
now and again he looked at her sideways with his sharp eyes. Stafford
did not like to interrupt them, and withdrew to the other end of the
terrace, with a cigarette, to wait till they joined him.
"Young Orme has come out to look for you," said Mr. Falconer, without
turning his head.
"I know," she said, though she also had not turned. "They want me to
sing. I will go in directly. You have not answered my question, father.
Is Sir Stephen very rich, or is all this only sham? I have heard you
say so often that display very often only covers poverty."
Falconer eyed her curiously.
"Why do you want to know? What does it matter to you?"
She shrugged her shoulders impatiently, resentfully, and he went on:
"Yes, he's rich; confoundedly so. But he is playing a big game, in
which he is running some risks; and he'll want all his money to help
him win it."
"And are you joining him in the game?" she asked.
He looked at her with surprise.
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