“I mean that I am going to try to meet your iceberg.  You will play fair, Mr. Howard?  You will stand and look on and—­be silent?”

He smiled and leant back as if he had considered her strange, audacious proposal, and felt confident.

“On my honour,” he said, with a laugh.  “You shall have fair play!” She laughed softly.  “You have not chosen my stake,” she said meaningly.

“Ah, no.  Pardon!  Let me see.”  He took her hand and examined the rings.  “This—­I think it’s the most valuable.”

“It does not matter,” she said.  “You will not win it.  May I look at yours?”

He extended his hand with an amused laugh; but without a smile, she said: 

“Yes, it is a quaint ring; I like quaint things.  I shall wear it on my little finger.”

She dropped his hand quickly, for at that moment Stafford rode round the bend of the drive.  His face was grave and almost stern in its preoccupation, but he caught sight of them, and raised his hat, then turned his horse and rode up to the terrace.

“Good-morning, Stafford,” exclaimed Howard.  “Where have you been?  Hallo!  Anything happened?  You’re coated all over with mud:  had a fall?”

He nodded carelessly as he turned to the beautiful girl, lying back now and looking up at his handsome face with an air of languid indifference.

“What a lovely day, Miss Falconer!  Where are all the others?  Are you not going for a drive, on the lake, somewhere?”

“I have just been asking Mr. Howard to take me for a row,” she said, “but he has refused.”

Stafford laughed and glanced at his watch.

“I can quite believe it:  he’s the laziest wretch in existence.  If you’ll transfer the offer to me, we’ll go after lunch.  By George, there’s the bell!”

“Thanks!” she murmured, and she rose with her slow grace.  “I’d better get into an appropriate costume.  Mr. Howard, what will you bet me that it does not rain before we start.  But you never bet, you tell me!”

“Not unless I am sure of winning, Miss Falconer,” he said, significantly.

She looked after Stafford as he rode away to the stable.

“Nor I,” she retorted, with a smile.  “As you will see.”

CHAPTER XVI.

When Stafford and Maude Falconer went down to the lake after luncheon, they found a party from the Villa just embarking on board one of the launches; the air was filled with laughter and chatter, and the little quay was bright with the white flannels of the men and the gay frocks of the women.  The party greeted the two with an exuberant welcome, and Bertie called out to ask them if they were coming on board.

“Perhaps you would rather go on the launch, Miss Falconer?” said Stafford; but she shook her head.

“No, thanks,” she said, languidly.  “I hate crowds of that kind.  I’d rather stick to our original proposition; it will bore me less.  But perhaps you’d rather join them?”