"His task is much simpler and easier than mine. He just goes down to his political club and subscribes so many thousand pounds towards the party expenses. The other night he gave them—but I must not tell the secrets of the Tories even to you, Mr. Howard. But it was a very large sum. It is always done that way, isn't it?"
"I suppose so," he assented. "It must be; for, come to think of it, a man isn't made a peer simply because he brews good beer; and a great many of our peers were and are good brewers, you see. Oh, it's all right, it pans out very satisfactorily, as the miners say. And so Stafford will be the future Earl of—"
"Earl of Highcliffe," she said. "He has declined anything less than an earldom. He has given so much. Sir Stephen owns some land there, and—and some of his people come from there."
Howard laughed.
"I see. Been there since they came over with the Conqueror. The
Herald's College will have no difficulty in finding a coat-of-arms.
Something with a Kaffir and a railway in it."
She smiled tolerantly.
"You always make fun of everything, Mr. Howard. If only Stafford would care—"
She sighed, and a moment afterwards her hand went to her lip with the gesture of a nervous school-girl. She had heard Stafford's voice in the hall.
He came in and greeted her gravely, and, Howard being present, merely took her hand.
"You two conspiring as usual?" he said, with a smile, with the smile which indicates a mind from which mirth has been absent for some time.