Stafford nodded. It seemed an unnecessary question.
"Rather!" he said. "There never was such a father as mine!"
"And Sir Stephen thinks there never was such a son as his," she said in a low voice. "I suppose you are both quite willing to make sacrifices for each other. Would you do—would you give up much for your father, Mr. Orme?"
She raised her eyes again, and let them rest on his.
Stafford tried to smile, but his face grew grave.
"Just my life, if it were any use to him," he said.
Her lips moved.
"That is so little!" she said. "We can all die for those we love, but few of us can live for them—go on living a life which has to be moulded to a plan, bent on another's will—Could you do that?"
"Yes," he said, after a pause. "There is no sacrifice I would not make for my father's sake; but"—he laughed and cleared the gravity from his brow—"all the sacrifice seems to be on his side. He has worked for me all his life, is working still, I'm afraid—Here is your father, Miss Falconer; and looking for you, I'm afraid."
Ralph Falconer stood in the doorway looking round, his heavy face seeming heavier than usual, his thick lips drooping. As he saw the two young people, his lips straightened and he went over to them slowly.