But as he
came up with a word of wonder and repeated congratulations, he saw
Stafford put his hand to his forehead, and, as it seemed to Howard,
almost stagger.
There are moments when the part of even one's best friend is silence,
blindness. Howard turned aside, and Stafford went on slowly, with a
kind of enforced steadiness, to the billiard-room. While Howard, with
dismay and apprehension, was looking after him, he heard "Mr. Howard!"
called softly, mockingly, from the stairs, and looking up, saw Maude
Falconer leaning over, with her arm extended, her hand open.
He understood in a moment, and, removing his ring as he ran up the
stairs, put it in the soft, pink palm. She gave a little triumphant,
mocking laugh, her hand closed over the ring, and then she glided away
from him.
The smoking-room was crowded as Stafford made his way in. Through the
clouds of smoke he saw his father standing at one end, surrounded by
the money-spinning crew, Falconer seated in a chair near him with a
black cigar between his lips. The group were laughing and talking
loudly, and all had glasses in their hands.
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