At Love's Cost - Page 138/342

He stopped and stared at her in the moonlight, a dark frown on his

face, his eyes heavy with doubt and suspicion.

"Look here, my girl," he said, "you are showing up in a new light

to-night. You are talking as your mother used to talk. And you aren't

doing it without a purpose. What is it? What grudge can you, a mere

girl who has only known him for a couple of days, have against Sir

Stephen?"

She smiled.

"Let us say that I am only concerned for my father's wounded pride and

honour," she said. "Or let us say that I _have_ a game of my own to

play, and that I am asking you to help me while you gratify your own

desire for revenge. Will you help me?"

"Tell me--tell me what your game is. Good Lord!"--with a scowl. "Fancy

you having a game: it's--it's ridiculous!"

"Almost as ridiculous as calling me a girl and expecting to see me

playing with a doll or a hoop," she returned, calmly. "But you needn't

reply. I can see you mean to do it, like a good and indulgent father;

and some day, perhaps soon, I will, like a good and dutiful daughter,

tell you why I wanted you to do it. Is that you, Mr. Orme? Will I come

and sing? Oh, yes, if you wish it. Where is the little dog?" she asked,

looking up at him with a new expression in her languorous eyes, as she

glided beside him.

"Asleep on my bed," replied Stafford, with a laugh. "My man has turned

him off and made him a luxurious couch with cushions three or four

times, but he would persist on getting on again, so he'll have to stay,

I suppose?"

"Are you always so good-natured?" she asked, in a low voice. "Or do you

reserve all your tenderness of heart for dogs and horses--as Mr. Howard

declares?"

"Mr. Howard is too often an ass," remarked Stafford, with a smile.

"You shall choose your song, as a reward for your exertions this

afternoon," she said, as he led her to the piano.

Most of the men in the crowd waiting eagerly for the exquisite voice

would have been moved to the heart's core by her tone and the

expression in her usually cold eyes, but Stafford was clothed in the

armour of his great love, and only inclined his head.

"Thanks: anything you like," he said, with the proper amount of

gratitude.