"Anything the matter, sir?" asked Stafford, as he and Falconer made
their way round the room through which was floating the last thing in
waltzes, a soft and sensuous melody which sang the soul to rest.
"I think not. A matter of business, I think," said Ralph Falconer. "His
secretary, Mr. Murray, has just come from London: it may be something
to do with the papers he had brought."
Stafford nodded, though the explanation seemed unsatisfactory: for what
concern had Stafford with the "papers"? As they went through the hall
they saw the financiers clustered together with an expectant air, as if
they were waiting for the result of the arrival of the man by the
special train; and they stared at Falconer and exchanged glances as he
and Stafford passed them and went to the library door.
Sir Stephen's voice came cheerily in response to Stafford's knock, and
Stafford entered; Falconer following him with bent head and the same
heavy look.
Sir Stephen was sitting at the table before a despatch box, and he held
out his hand and uttered a little cry of pleasure as he saw who it was.
"Stafford, my boy! You could not have come at a better moment--Don't
go, Falconer! I'd like you to hear me tell him the good news.
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