To Ida--ah, well, who shall measure the intensity of a girl's first

passion? She only lived in the expectation of seeing him, in his

presence and the whispered words and caresses of his love; and, in his

absence, in the memory of them. For her life meant just this man who

had come and taken the heart from her bosom and enthroned his own in

its place.

They told each other everything. Stafford knew the whole of her life

before they met, all the little details of the daily routine of the

Hall, and her management of the farm; and she learnt from him all that

was going on at the great, splendid palace which in his modesty Sir

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Stephen Orme had called the Villa. She liked to nestle against him and

hear the small details of his life, as he liked to hear hers; and she

seemed to know all the visitors at the Villa, and their peculiarities,

as well as if she were personally acquainted with them.

"You ought not to leave them so much, Stafford." she said, with mock

reproof, as they sat one afternoon in the ballow by the river. "Don't

you think they notice your absence and wonder where you are?"

"Shouldn't think so," he replied. "Besides, I don't care if they do.

All my worry is that I can't come to you oftener. Every time I leave

you I count up the hours that must pass before I see you again. But I

expect most, if not all, of the visitors will be off presently. Most of

'em have been there the regulation fortnight; a good many come

backwards and forwards; they're the city men, the money men. My father

is closeted with them for hours every day--that big scheme of his seems

to be coming off satisfactorily. It's a railway to some place in

Africa, and all these fellows--the Griffenbergs, and Beltons, that fat

German baron, Wirsch, and the rest of them, are in it. Heaven knows why

my father wants to worry about it for. I heard one of them say that he

calculated to make a million and a half out of it. As if he weren't

rich enough!"

"A million and a half," she said. "What a large sum it seems. What one

could do with a half, a quarter, a tenth of it!"

"What would you do, dearest?" he asked.

She laughed softly.

"I think that I would first buy you a present. And then I'd have the

Hall repainted. No, I'd get the terrace rails and the portico mended;

and yet, perhaps, it would be better to have the inside of the house

painted and papered. You see, there are so many things I could do with

it, that it's difficult to choose."




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