Stafford shook his head. He evinced no sign of relief, the colour did not rise to his face, and his eyes were still fixed on Falconer.
"It was a very wise provision," said Mr. Chaffinch, approvingly. "And distinctly one I should have recommended; but Sir Stephen—Lord Highcliffe—did it of his own accord. He was a far-seeing man, and he was aware that fortune might fail him, that it was necessary he should place you, my lord, out of danger. I can well believe that, even at that time, he saw the peerage coming, and felt that you should be made secure, that you should have a sufficient income to support the title. It is not a tenth, a twentieth of the sum you would have inherited, but for this unfortunate accident of the native rising, and the collapse of the South African Company."
Stafford scarcely heard him. He was thinking of his father's loving foresight and care for his son's future. A pang of bereavement shot through him.
"Very wise," said Mr. Falconer, grimly. "Whatever happens, Lord Highcliffe is safe, high and dry above water mark. Carefully invested, the capital sum may be made to produce an income of four thousand, or thereabouts. Not too much for an earldom, but—Ah, well, it might be so much worse."
"The servants—the small debts—this house—is there enough for them?" asked Stafford, after a pause.
Mr. Chaffinch waved his hand.
"No need to trouble about that, my lord. There will be sufficient at the bank to pay such small claims. Your lordship will keep the house on?"
Stafford looked up with a sudden energy. "No," he said; "not a moment longer than is necessary. I shall return to my old rooms."
"There is no occasion," began Mr. Chaffinch. "I need scarcely say that the bank will honour your lordship's cheques for any amount."
"Please get rid of this house as soon as possible," said Stafford. He rose as he spoke. "You will remain to lunch?"