"That was a good shot," said Stafford, with a touch of pride in his

voice. "I don't know that I've seen a better. You play a good game,

sir."

Sir Stephen's face flushed at his son's praise, as a girl's might have

done; but he laughed it off.

"Only so, so, Staff. I don't play half as good a game as you and Mr.

Howard. How should I?--Mr. Howard, there is the spirit-stand. You'll

help yourself? Servants are a nuisance in a billiard-room."

Not once for the rest of the evening did he show any sign of the

weakness which had so startled Howard, and as they went up the stairs

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he told them a story with admirable verve and with evident enjoyment.

"Sorry our evening has come to an end," he said as they stood outside

his door. "It is the last we shall have to ourselves. Pity. But it

can't be helped."

Unconsciously he opened the door as he spoke, and Stafford said: "Is this your room, sir?"

"Yes; walk in, my boy," replied Sir Stephen.

Stafford walked in and stood stock-still with amazement. The room was

as plainly furnished as a servant's--more plainly, probably, than the

servants who were housed under his roof. Saving for a square of carpet

by the bed and dressing-table the floor was bare; the bed was a common

one of iron, narrow and without drapery, the furniture was of painted

deal. The only picture was a portrait of Stafford enlarged from a

photograph, and it hung over the mantel-piece so that Sir Stephen could

see it from the bed. Of course neither Stafford nor Howard made any

remark.

"Remember that portrait, Stafford?" asked Sir Stephen, with a smile. "I

carry it about with me wherever I go. Foolish and fond old father, eh,

Mr. Howard? It's a good portrait, don't you think?"

Stafford held out his hand.

"Good-night, sir," he said in a very low voice.

"Good-night, my boy! Sure you've got everything you want? And you, Mr.

Howard? Don't let me disturb you in the morning. I've got a stupid

habit of getting up early--got it years ago, and it clings, like other

habits. Hope you'll sleep well. If you don't, change your rooms before

the crowd comes. Good-night."

"Did you see the room?" asked Stafford, huskily, when he and Howard had

got into Stafford's.

Howard nodded.

"I feel as if I could pitch all this"--Stafford looked at the

surrounding luxuries--"out of the window! I don't understand him. Great

Heaven! he makes me feel the most selfish, pampered wretch on the face

of the earth. He's--he's--"




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