Howard smiled.

“You talk as if an affair of thousands of thousands, perhaps millions, were quite a bagatelle,” he said.  “My dear boy, don’t you understand, realise, the importance of this business?  It’s nothing less than a railway from—­”

Stafford nodded.  “Oh, yes, you told me about it.  It’s a very big thing, I daresay, but what puzzles me is why the governor should care to worry about it.  He has money enough—­”

“No man has money enough,” said Howard, solemnly.  “But no matter.  It is a waste of time to discuss philosophy with a man who has no mind above fox-hunting, fishing, pheasant-shooting, and dancing.  By the way, how many times do you intend to dance with the Grecian goddess?”

“Meaning—­” said Stafford.

“Miss Falconer, of course.  Grecian goddesses are not so common, my dear Stafford, as to permit of more than one in a house-party.”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Stafford, eyeing him with faint surprise.  “What the devil made you ask me that?”

Howard eyed the handsome face with cynical amusement.

“Pardon, if I was impertinent; but I assure you the question is being asked amongst themselves by all the women in the house—­”

Stafford stared at him and began to frown with perplexity rather than anger.

“My dear Stafford, I know that you are not possessed of a particularly brilliant intellect, but you surely possess sufficient intelligence to see that your attentions to Miss Falconer are somewhat obvious.”

“What?” said Stafford.  “My attentions to Miss Falconer—­Are you chaffing, Howard?”

“Not in the least:  it’s usually too great a waste of time with you, my dear boy:  you don’t listen, and when you do, half the time you don’t understand.  No, I’m quite serious; but perhaps I ought to have said her attentions to you; it would have been more correct.”

Stafford coloured.

“Look here, old man,” he said.  “If you think—­Oh, dash it all, what nonsense it is!  Miss Falconer and I are very good friends; and of course I like to talk to her—­she’s so sharp, almost as smart and clever as you are, when she likes to take the trouble; and of course I like to hear her sing—­Why, my dear Howard, it’s like listening to one of the big operatic swells; but—­but to suggest that there is anything—­that—­there is any reason to warn me—­Oh, dash it! come off it, old man, you’re chaffing?”

“Not in the least.  But I didn’t intend any warning:  in fact, I am in honour bound to refrain from anything of the kind—­”

“In honour bound?” said Stafford.

Howard almost blushed.

“Oh, it’s nothing; only a silly wager,” he said.  “I can’t tell you, so don’t enquire.  But all the same—­well, there, I won’t say more if you are sure there is nothing between you.”

“I have the best of reasons for saying so,” said Stafford, carelessly, and with a touch of colour in his face.  “But it’s all dashed nonsense!  The women always think there’s something serious going on if you dance twice with a girl, or sit and talk to her for half an hour.”