“Give me some wine, please,” he said to the butler, trying to speak in his ordinary tone; but he knew that his voice was harsh and strained, knew that the butler noticed it, though the well-trained servant did not move an eyelid, but opened a bottle of champagne with solemn alacrity and poured out a glass.  Stafford signed to him to place the bottle near and drank a couple of glasses.

It pulled him together a bit, and he was going back to the ball-room when several men entered.  They were Griffenberg, Baron Wirsch, the Beltons and the other financiers; they were all talking together and laughing, and their faces were flushed with triumph.  Close behind them, but grave and taciturn as usual, came Mr. Falconer.

At sight of Stafford, Mr. Griffenberg turned from the man to whom he was talking and exclaimed, gleefully: 

“Here is Mr. Orme!  You have herd the good news, I suppose, Mr. Orme?  Splendid isn’t it?  Wonderful man, you father, truly wonderful!  He can give us all points, can’t he, baron?” The baron nodded and smiled.

“Shir Stephen ish a goot man of pishness.  You have a very glever fader, Mr. Orme!” he said, emphatically.

Efford caught Stafford’s arm as he was passing on with a mechanical smile and an inclination of the head.

“We’ve come in for a drink, Orme,” he said.  “We’re going to drink luck to the biggest thing Sir Stephen has ever done; you’ll join us?  Oh, come, we can’t take a refusal!  Dash it all!  You’re in the swim, Orme, if you haven’t taken any active part in it.”

Stafford glanced at Mr. Falconer, and noticed a grim smile pass over his face.  If these exultant and flushed money-spinners only guessed how active a part he had taken, how amazed they would be!  A wave of bitterness swept over him.  At such a moment men, especially young men, become reckless; the strain is too great, and they fly to the nearest thing for relief.

He turned back to the buffet, and the butler and the couple of footmen opened several bottles of champagne—­none of the men knew or cared how many; several others of the financial group joined the party; the wine went round rapidly; they were all talking and laughing except Stafford, who remained silent and grave and moody for some little time; then he too began to talk and laugh with the others, and his face grew flushed and his manner excited.

Falconer, who stood a little apart, apparently drinking with the others, but really with care and moderation, watched him under half-lowered lids; and presently he moved round to where Stafford leant against the table with his champagne-glass in his hand, and touching him on the arm, said: 

“I hear them enquiring for you in the ball-room, Stafford.”

It was the first time he had called Stafford by his Christian name, and it struck home, as Falconer had intended it should.  Stafford set his glass down and looked round as a man does when the wine is creeping up to his head, and he is startled by an unexpected voice.