“’Pon my word, I don’t know,” he answered.  “I’m like the school-boy:  ’I don’t know nothink.’  I suppose I shall stay as long as the governor does; and, come to that, I suppose he doesn’t know how long that will be.  I’ve got to regard him as a kind of stormy petrel; here to-day and gone to-morrow, always on the wing, and never resting anywhere for any time.  I’m never surprised when I hear that, though his last letter was dated Africa, he has flown back to Europe or has run over to Australia.”

“Y-es,” said Howard, musingly, “there is an atmosphere of mystery and romance about your esteemed parent, Sir Stephen Orme, which smacks of the Arabian Nights, my dear Stafford.  Man of the world as I am, I must confess that I regard him with a kind of wondering awe; and that I follow his erratic movements very much as one would follow the celestial progress of a particularly splendacious comet.  He never ceases to be an object of wonderment to me; and I love to read of his gigantic projects, his vast wealth, his brilliant successes; and I tell you frankly that I am looking forward to seeing him with a mixture of fear and curiosity.  Do not be surprised, if, at my introduction, I fall on my hands and knees in Oriental abasement.  I have admired him so much and so long at a distance that he has assumed in my eyes an almost regal, not to say imperial, importance.”  “I hope you will like him,” said Stafford, with a touch of that simplicity which all his friends liked.

“If he resembles his son, I am sure to do so,” said Howard.  “Indeed, in any case I am pretty sure to do so.  For how often have I read of his wonderful charm of manner, his winning smile and brilliant conversational powers?  When do we get to this fairy palace?”

“I suppose if we get there before dinner, it will be time enough,” replied Stafford.  “By the way, I’d better ask how far it is.  Don’t ring.  I want to go up for some more cigars.”

He went up to his room, and in getting them from his bag, saw the little instrument case which he had thrown into his bag when he was changing.  Back came the vision of the strange girl with the beautiful face.

He slipped the wallet in his pocket, and when he reached the hall he turned to the open door of the little room which served as the landlord’s office, or bar-room.

The landlord was enjoying a cigar and a glass of whiskey and water, and he opened the door still wider and gave a respectful smile of welcome.

“You have a very comfortable hotel here, Mr. Groves,” said Stafford, by way of opening the conversation.  “We have had a capital dinner, and have enjoyed it tremendously; was that ’72 port you gave us?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Mr. Groves, much gratified.  For you go straight to a landlord’s heart when you guess a good vintage and appreciate it.  “I am glad you like it, sir; there’s more of it at your service.  Will you take a seat, sir, and may I offer you a glass of whiskey?  It is as good as the port, if I may say so.”