"She is very beautiful," said Howard; "and I can condole with you
sincerely on the loss of your dance."
"Yes, it's nearly over now," said Bertie, with a sigh. "Talking of
Stafford," he said, after a minute, "when did you hear from him last?"
"To-day," replied Howard. "I have his letter in my pocket."
"Still out in the backwoods?" asked Bertie. "Poor old chap! awful piece
of luck for him! If his father had only gone on living and waited until
that blessed company had come right side uppermost, he'd have been a
millionaire. Look at Griffenberg and the rest of 'em!" he nodded
towards the group of financiers; "they're simply rolling in money,
rolling in it."
"Yes, he's still in the backwoods, as you call it," responded Howard;
"and from what he says I should think he's having a pretty hard time of
it; though, of course, he doesn't complain: there are some men still
left who don't complain." There was a pause, during which he had been
thinking deeply, then he said: "So Stafford knew Miss Heron, did he?"
Bertie looked mysterious and lowered his voice.
"Yes. Look here, old chap, I shouldn't say this to anyone but you; but
you are Stafford's great and only chum, and I know I can speak safely;
to tell you the truth--"
"Now you are going to tell me anything but the truth," murmured Howard,
with a sigh of resignation.
"Oh, no, I'm not," retorted Bertie. "What there is of it is the truth
and nothing but the truth. It isn't much. But I've a kind of idea that
Stafford knew our new beauty better than we think. Do you remember how
he used to leave our party and go off by himself? Not like Stafford,
that, was it? And one of our fellows remarked to me that one day coming
home from a ride he saw Stafford riding with a lady. He couldn't swear
to him, but--well, Stafford's hard to mistake. Then, again, how was it
he and Miss Heron were in at Maude Falconer's death; and why did he
bolt off to Australia again directly after the funeral? And why is it
that she keeps us all at arm's length, even that confounded Glarn?"
Howard's eyes grew sharp; but he smiled languidly, as he said: "You ought to edit a riddle book, Bertie, my son. I think we should get
across the room now. I should be greatly obliged if you would introduce
me to Miss Heron."