At Love's Cost - Page 127/342

Stafford laughed again.

"You're altogether wrong, Miss Falconer," he said. "I happen to know

that my governor is one of the most generous and tender-hearted of men

and that whatever he has gained it is by fair means, and by no

sacrifice of others."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I envy your faith in him. But then you are a very enviable man, I'm

told."

"As how?" asked Stafford. "Pretty here, isn't it? Here's one of those

beastly steamers coming: they spoil the lake, but they're very

convenient, I suppose."

She glanced at the big steamer puffing towards them obtrusively and

sending a trail of smoke across the green and violet of the hills.

"Oh, I'm told you are the most popular man in London; that you have the

world at your feet, that you are only waiting to see which duchess you

prefer to throw your handkerchief to--"

Stafford coloured.

"What rot!--I beg your pardon, Miss Falconer. Of course, I know you are

only chaffing me."

"Isn't it true--about the duchess, I mean?" she asked, so coolly, so

indifferently, that Stafford was compelled to take her seriously.

"Nary a word," he said, brightly; then, with a sudden gravity: "If you

happen to hear such nonsense again, Miss Falconer, you can, if you care

to, contradict it flatly. I am not in the least likely to marry a

duchess; indeed, I wouldn't marry the highest and greatest of them, if

she'd have me, which is highly improbable."

"Do you mean to say that you have no ambition, that you would marry

for--love?" she asked.

Stafford stopped rowing for a moment and looked at her grimly.

"What on earth else should I marry for?" he asked. "Wouldn't you?"

Before she could answer, the steamer came abreast of them, and so close

that the swell from its screw set the slight, narrow skiff dancing and

plunging on the waves.

Maude uttered a faint cry and leant forward, and Stafford, fearing she

was going to rise, stretched out his hand, and touching her knee,

forced her into her seat again, and kept her there until the swell had

subsided.

The colour flooded her face at the pressure of his strong hand, which

was like a steel weight, and she caught her breath. Then, as he took

his hand away and resumed rowing, he said: "I beg your pardon! I was

afraid you were going to get up--a girl I once had in a boat did so and

we upset."