“Order! order!” called Griffenberg.

But the man declined to be silenced.

“Oh, it’s all very well to call ‘Order!’ But I’ve a question to ask.  I want to know whether it’s true that Sir Stephen—­blow ’Lord Highcliffe,’ Sir Stephen’s good enough for me!—­made over a hundred thousand pounds to his son, the young gentleman sitting there.  Some of us is ruined by this company, and we don’t see why we should be sheared while Lord Highcliffe gets off with a cool hundred thousand.  I ask the question and I wait for an answer.”

Stafford rose, his pale, handsome face looking almost white above his black frock-coat and black tie.

“Sit down!  Don’t answer him,” said Griffenberg.

“It is quite true,” he said.  “The money—­a hundred thousand pounds—­was given to me.  It was given to me when my father”—­his voice broke for a moment—­“was in a position to give it, was solvent—­”

“I said so, didn’t I?” yelled the man who had put the question.

“Order! order!” said Griffenberg.

“And I am informed that the gift was legal, that it cannot be touched—­”

“Of course it can’t!  Trust Sir Stephen to look after his own!” wailed the man.

“But I yield it, give it up,” said Stafford in the same level voice.

Falconer started from his seat and laid a hand on Stafford’s arm.

“Don’t be a fool!”, he whispered in his thick voice.

But Stafford did not heed him.

“I give it up, relinquish it,” he said in the same low, clear tones.  “When my father”—­his voice again shook for a moment, but he mastered his emotion—­“made the deed, he thought himself a rich man.  If he were alive to-day”—­there was a pause, and the meeting hung on his words—­“he would entirely agree with what I am doing.  I give up the deed of gift, I relinquish it.  My lawyers have made me the proper document, and I now give it to your chairman.  It is all I possess; if I had more, I would give it to you.  My father was an honourable man, if he were here now—­”

He placed the deed before Griffenberg, and sank into his seat.

There was a moment of intense silence, then a cheer arose, led by the very man who had put the question.

Griffenberg sprang to his feet.

“I hope you are satisfied, gentlemen,” he said, with as much emotion as a city man can permit himself.  “Lord Highcliffe has behaved like a gentleman, like a nobleman.  I can assure you that his sacrifice is a real one.  The deed of gift which he has surrendered is a perfectly sound one, and could not have been touched.  All honour to him for his surrender, for his generosity.”

Another cheer arose—­again it was started by the very man who had attacked poor Stafford, and before it had ceased to ring through the crowded room, Stafford had made his way out.

Mr. Falconer caught him by the arm as he was going down the stairs.

“Do you know what you have done?” he demanded in his dry, harsh voice.  “You have made yourself a pauper.”