“Ill?” said Howard, raising his brows and smiling, for he knew the meaning of loyalty to a friend.  “I never saw him in better spirits in my life, he was quite hilarious.”

Her eyes flashed upon him keenly, but he met them with his slow, cynical smile.

“He must have been very different to what he usually is,” she said.  “I have not seen him laugh since—­since we left Bryndermere.”  Her lips came tightly together, and she looked at him and then away from him.  “Mr. Howard, you are his friend, his closest friend.  I want you to tell me—­But, no; you would not speak if you were on the rack, would you?  No one sees, no one speaks; it is only I who, always watching him, see that there is something wrong.  And I—­I am so helpless!”

The outburst was so unlike her, the dropping of the mask of pride and self-possession was so sudden that Howard was startled; but no sign of his emotion revealed itself upon his placid face, upon which his serene smile did not waver for an instant.

“I think you are availing yourself of a lady’s privilege and indulging in a fancy, Miss Falconer,” he said.  “Stafford is perfectly well, and, of course, is perfectly happy—­how could he be otherwise?” He bent his head slightly.  “Perhaps he may be a little tired.  Alas! we are not all endowed with the splendid energy which the gods have bestowed on you and Sir Stephen; and the heat is enough to take the backbone out of anyone less gifted.”

She checked a sigh, as if she understood that it was useless to appeal to him, and after a pause Howard said: 

“You haven’t told me the great secret yet.”

She seemed to wake from a reverie, and said, listlessly: 

“It will not be a secret for many hours.  Sir Stephen is expecting the peerage to-night.  The official intimation should have reached him by midday; but the prime minister did not return to London till this afternoon and the formalities were not completed.  I think it will be announced to-night.”

Her eyes shone and a spot of colour started to her cheeks.

“You are glad?” Howard said, with a smile of sympathy that had something of mockery in it, for your worldly cynic is always amused by worldliness in others.

“Yes, I am glad; but not for my own sake.  You think I am pining for a coronet?  I do not care—­it is for Stafford’s sake that I am glad.  Nothing is too good for him, no title too high!”

“Do you think Stafford cares?” asked Howard.

She flushed and her eyes fell before his.

“No,” she said, with a deep sigh.  “I do not think he cares.  He seems quite indifferent.  All the time Sir Stephen and I have been working—­”

“Have you been working?” said Howard, raising his eyebrows.

She laughed a little wearily.

“Indeed, yes.  I have been—­what do you men call it?—­log-rolling for weeks.  It is I who have found out what is wanted by the people who can help us.  And it is generally, always, in fact, money.  Always money!  I get ‘tips’ from Sir Stephen and my father, and whisper them to the lords and ladies who have influence in the political drawing-rooms and clubs.”