“Your daughter is a most accomplished musician, and a beautiful singer,” Dr. Graham was saying to Sir Philip.
“I do not approve of that class of song,” Sir Philip’s rasping voice made answer. “It is theatrical and tawdry in sentiment, and in my opinion not a song for a gentlewoman to sing.”
Stella glanced at her father. Seeing that he appeared to be engaged in conversation by Dr. Graham, she resolved to tell Lord Carthew that his friend Hilary Pritchard was not in London, but lying at the inn near the lodge gates of the Chase.
“I have something I want to say to you,” she began, speaking very softly, lest her father might overhear her. But she was not quick enough for the gray wolf. In an instant he had left the doctor and joined her.
“I understand,” he said, addressing Lord Carthew with an affectation of geniality, “that you are a good chess-player. Dr. Graham here is a great authority on chess, and one of the best players in London. Will you and he have a game while I go with my daughter to see how my wife is now?”
His guests could do no less than follow his suggestion, while Stella, her heart beating fast with apprehension, followed her father out of the room.
As soon as the door was closed, he turned upon her harshly.
“Come to my study,” he said. “I have something to say to you.”
CHAPTER XI.
AN OLD STORY.
In the study, Sir Philip Cranstoun assumed his favorite position, with his back to the fire, and his feet planted firmly on the hearth-rug.