“Was it this afternoon?” said Stafford.  “I’d forgotten.  I’m sorry:  but my father will be there and will look after Maude.”

Howard glanced at the weary-looking face as he helped himself to a cigarette.

“You’re well out of it!  A lady who would give a garden-party on such an afternoon as this, is, indeed, la belle dame sans mercie! Good heavens! when I think of the suffering the votaries of fashion undergo in one season, I’ve no pity left for the benighted Hindoo women who sacrifice themselves to Juggernaut.  Which reminds me that there is a tremendously swagger function on at Clarendon House tonight, isn’t there?”

Stafford nodded, and refilled and relit his pipe.

“Yes,” he said, “I had forgotten it; but Maude sent me round a note to remind me of it, and, of course, I must go.  I envy you, Howard:  you can stay away.”

“That’s what I can’t do,” said Howard, with a whimsical smile.  “I am drawn, into the vortex; I am dragged at the chariot wheels of that wonderful father of yours.  I am the victim of a peculiar kind of fascination which is as irresistible as the mesmeric influence or hypnotism.  I feel towards Sir Stephen as I should feel towards Napoleon the Great, if he were alive.  I follow and gaze at him, so to speak, with my mouth agape and a fatuous smile over a countenance which I once flattered myself was intelligent.  I am dazed, bewildered by his genius, his audacity, his marvellous courage and resource.  Do you know, Stafford, I think it would be an excellent idea to abolish the House of Lords, the House of Commons, the monarchical government, and place the whole business in the hands of a Board to be presided over by Sir Stephen.”

Stafford drew at his pipe grimly and said nothing, and Howard went on in the gentle monotone characteristic of him: 

“By the way, the mysterious and proverbial little bird has whispered to me that Sir Stephen will not be Sir Stephen much longer.  In fact, that they are going to make a peer of him very shortly.  And upon my word, they couldn’t find a better man for the place; for, unlike some noble lords you and I could mention, Staff, he will wear his robes and coronet—­do they ever wear them now—­right nobly; and for once the House of Lords will get a man who knows his own mind, knows what he wants and the way to get it.  And if you won’t take offence, Staff, and throw things at me, I should like to remark that his son will prove a worthy successor.  Can you fancy yourself in a peer’s robe with a velvet-lined coronet, Staff?”

Stafford grunted for reply, and there was silence for a minute, during which Howard turned over the pages of one of the illustrated weeklies which lay on the table, and suddenly he looked up and exclaimed: 

“Have you seen this?”

Stafford shook his head.

“I mean this portrait of Miss Falconer,” said Howard, in a low voice.  “It is wonderfully good,” he went on, as he contemplated the full-length picture; “wonderfully like her.”