Stafford stopped and looked at him with a dull, vacant gaze.

“A pauper!” repeated Falconer, huskily.

“I daresay,” said Stafford, wearily.

“And you an earl!” said Falconer, his face a brick-dust red.  “Do you think they will have any pity?  Not they.  They’ll take you at your word.  They’ll have every penny!  How do you mean to live?  You, the Earl of Highcliffe!”

Stafford passed his hand across his brow; and a smile, a grim smile, curved his lips.

“I don’t know,” he said.  “The money was theirs, not mine.”

“Stuff and rubbish!” said Falconer.  “You thought only of yourself, of your father’s good name.  I need scarcely tell you that Maude...”

Stafford waited, his pale face set like a statue’s.

—­“That Maude—­well, you don’t expect her to consider the engagement binding after—­after this?” The blood rushed to Stafford’s face.

“I understand,” he said.  “Miss Falconer is free.  I resign all claim to her.”

At this moment Howard came out.  He had almost fought his way from the crowded room.

“Stafford!” he cried.  “It is not too late!  You can take it back!  They are friendly!”

Stafford smiled.

“I’ve nothing to take back!” he said.

Howard linked his arm in his friend’s.

“Good Lord!  But it was splendid!  But all the same—­Stafford, have you considered?  It will leave you practically penniless!”

“I know,” said Stafford.  “I have considered.  Let us go home.”

They went home to Stafford’s room.  Howard was hot with the enthusiasm of admiration, and with the effort to suppress it; for nowadays men do not tolerate praise even from their dearest friend.  It seemed to Howard as if Stafford’s act of renunciation had brought him a certain sense of relief, as if some portion of the heavy weight had been lifted from his heart.

“Of course now we have to go into a committee of ways and means, my dear Staff; you won’t mind my asking you what you’re going to do?  I need not say that there is no need for any precipitate action.  I—­er—­the fact is, Staff, I have a sum of money lying at the bank which absolutely annoys me by its uselessness.  The bank manager has been bothering me about it for some time past, and it was such a nuisance that I thought of tossing him whether he should take or I. It isn’t much—­a man doesn’t amass a large fortune by writing leaders for the newspapers and articles for reviews—­but of course you wouldn’t be so mean as to refuse to borrow what there is.  I’m very much afraid that you’ll suffer by this absurdly quixotic action of yours, which, mind you! though I admire it, as I admire the siege of Troy, or the battle of Waterloo, is a piece of darned foolishness.  However, let that go!  What do you mean to do?”