Stafford laughed and picked up the dog by the scruff of its neck, and it nestled against him lovingly, and licked his cheek.

Howard went down-stairs, still putting on his gloves, and as he opened the door, he swore under his breath fervently.

CHAPTER XXXI.

In obedience to Miss Falconer’s command, Howard presented himself at Clarendon House at a comparatively early hour that evening.  There were some guests staying in the house, amongst them Lady Clansford, who was still obliging enough to play the part of presiding genius; but they were all resting, or dressing for the ball, and the drawing-room, into which a couple of superbly liveried footmen showed Howard, was empty.  But presently he heard the frou-frou of satin, and Maude Falconer swept in; her beauty, the splendour of her dress, the flashing of the diamonds in her hair and on her neck and arms, her queenly presence, almost made Howard catch his breath.

She came in with a languid grace, the air of hauteur which suited her so well, but as she saw that Howard was alone, the languor and the hauteur almost disappeared, and she came forward and gave him her hand, and he saw a look on her face which reminded him of that upon the ill-fated Italian, though it did not resemble it.  For the first time he noticed a shade of anxiety on the level brow, something like a pathetic curve in the perfectly moulded lips; and he fancied that the gloved hand, which he held for a moment, quivered.

“Is Stafford not with you?” she asked.  “I thought he was coming early.  His father expected him.”

“No, I came alone,” replied Howard.  “But, no doubt, Stafford will be here presently.”

She stood, calm and statuesque, but with her eyes downcast for a moment, then she raised them and looked at him.  “About this cotillon,” she said; then she broke off:  “Do you know what is going to happen to-night?  It is a secret, but—­but I feel as if I must tell you, though I am betraying Sir Stephen’s confidence.  He tells me everything—­more than he tells even Stafford.  Strange as it may seem, he—­he is fond of me.”

“That does not seem strange to me,” said Howard, with a little bow.

She made a slight gesture of impatience.

“It seems strange to me,” she said, with a touch of bitterness.  “So few persons are fond of me.”

Howard smiled.

“For once I must be guilty of contradicting a lady,” he said.  “When I reflect that to-night I shall form one of a band of devoted courtiers who will throng round you in the hopeless pangs of despair—­”

She repeated the gesture of impatience.

“Have you seen Stafford to-day?” she asked, looking down.

“I saw him a few hours ago,” he replied, “at his rooms.”

“At his rooms,” she repeated, with a slight frown and a quick glance at him.  “He promised to come to Richmond.  Why did he not do so?  Is he—­ill?”