"I'm not surprised!" said Stafford. "It seems to me that my father rests neither night nor day—"
"Ah, well, it will soon be over—perhaps before you expect," she said, smiling mysteriously. "Hush! Here he comes! You bad boy, you have spoilt my hair,"—she herself had disarranged it as she pressed against his breast. "I must run away and have it put straight."
Sir Stephen entered a moment after she had left the room. He looked fagged to-night, as she had said; but his face lit up at sight of Stafford.
"Ah, my boy!" he exclaimed, holding Stafford's hand for a moment or two and scanning him with his usual expression of pride and affection. "We are going to have a big night: the greatest crush we have had. Didn't I hear Maude's voice?"
Stafford said that she had just gone out. Sir Stephen nodded musingly, and glanced at Stafford's grave face.
"I suppose the hurly-burly will be over presently," he said, "and we can go down to the country. Where would you like to go?"
Stafford shrugged his shoulders, and Sir Stephen eyed him rather sadly and anxiously. This indifference of Stafford's was quite a new thing.
"Don't mind? What do you say to Brae Wood, then?"
Stafford's face flushed.
"Not there—Wouldn't it be rather hot at Bryndermere, sir? Why not
Scotland?"