Mr. Heron flushed and scrambled his letters and papers together as he rose.

“Won’t Mr. Wordley come in and have some breakfast?” suggested Ida.  But her father, shaking his head impatiently, said that Mr. Wordley was sure to have had his breakfast, and shuffled out of the room.

A few minutes after he had gone, Jessie came in for the day’s orders, and Ida dragged her thoughts away from the all-absorbing subject and plunged into housekeeping.  It was not a lengthy or a very elaborate business, alas! but when it was over Jessie lingered and began collecting the breakfast things, glancing shyly at Ida, as she always did when she wanted to gossip.

“There was fine doings up at the Villa last night, Miss Ida!” she began, rather timidly, for Ida seldom encouraged her chatter.  “There was a ball there.  Such a tremendous grand affair!  There hasn’t been anything like it ever known in this country.  Williams was up there this morning, and Susie told him that it was like fairyland, what with the beautiful rooms and the music and the ladies’ rich dresses and jewels.  She got a peep through one of the open doors, and she says it quite took her breath away.”

Ida smiled.  She was not envious; for would not Stafford come over presently and tell her all about it:  who was there, with whom he had danced, and how all the time he had been longing to be by her side?

“Susie says that the ladies was beautiful, Miss Ida, and that the most beautiful of them all was Miss Falconer.  Susie says she had the most lovely dress, like a cloud of smoke, with diamonds sparkling all over it like stars.”

“That sounds very pretty and poetical, Jessie,” said Ida.

What would he care for a dress like a cloud, or the diamonds that shone like stars on it?  Did she not know that he loved the little rain-washed habit which a certain rustic country girl wore, better than the choicest production of Worth?

“Yes, miss,” Jessie went on, “and Susie says that Mr. Stafford, the lord’s son”—­the simple dale folk as often called Sir Stephen “my lord” as “sir”—­“danced ever so many times with her, and the servants was saying that he was making love to her, and that they shouldn’t be surprised to hear that Mr. Stafford was going to marry Miss Falconer.”

Ida could not prevent the colour rising to her face, but she laughed unforcedly, and with no misgiving; for she had looked into Stafford’s eyes and read his soul through them.  He was hers, let all the women in the world be beautiful and decked in silks and satins.

She ran upstairs to put on her habit, leaving Jessie rather disappointed at the effect of her news, and she sang while she tied the little scarlet sailor’s knot, and presently came down the stairs with a step as light as her heart.  As she was mounting and talking to Jason about the last lot of steers, Mr. Wordley came out of the house to get his horse, and hurried to her, bare-headed, in the good old way.