—"A peerage for Sir Stephen Orme," said Falconer, with a grim smile.
"For Sir Stephen Orme's boy!" said Sir Stephen, with a flush, and a flash of the dark eyes. "It is for his sake that I am making this last throw; for my boy's, Falconer. For myself I am content—why shouldn't I be? But for him—ah, well, you've seen him! You'll understand!"
Falconer leant back and smoked in silence.
"Plaistow is working the Colonial Office, the Beltons are feeling their way in the city; Wirsch—but you know how the thing is done! I've got them down here that they may work it quietly, that I may have them under my eye—"
"And the lords and ladies—they're to have a finger in the pie because, though they can't help you in the African business, they can in the matter of the peerage?"
Sir Stephen smiled. "You'll stand in with us, Falconer? Don't refuse me! Let me make some reparation—some atonement for the past!" He rose and stood smiling, an imposing figure with his white hair and brilliant eyes. Falconer got up slowly and stiffly.
"Thanks. I'll think it over. It's a big thing, as you say, and it will either make you—"
—"Or break me!" said Sir Stephen, but he laughed confidently.
Falconer nodded.
"I'll go up now," he said.