This is a “casual” age, in which a man parts from or meets his relations and friends with the real or assumed indifference which is ordained by fashion.  It is bad form to display one’s affection, even for the woman one loves, excepting in extreme seclusion and privacy.  If you meet your dearest chum who has just come out of the Transvaal War by the skin of his teeth, it is not permitted you to say more than:  “Ah—­er—­how d’ye do.  Got back, then, old man?” and at parting from one’s nearest relative, perhaps for the remainder of his life, one must hide the grief that racks the heart, with an enquiry as to whether he has got a comfortable berth and has remembered his umbrella.

But Sir Stephen was evidently not ashamed of his pleasure and delight at the sight of his son, and he wrung his hand and looked him up and down with an affectionate and proud scrutiny.

“You’re looking fit, Stafford, very fit!  By George, I—­I believe you’ve grown!  And you’ve got—­uglier than ever!”

Then, still holding Stafford’s hand, he turned with a smile to Howard.

“You must forgive me, Mr. Howard!  I’ve not seen this boy of mine for a devil of a time, and I’ve been looking forward to this meeting very keenly.  The fond parent, you know, eh?  But now let me say again how pleased I am to see you.  Stafford has often mentioned you, his closest chum, and I was almost as anxious to see you as I was to see him.”

“You are very kind, Sir Stephen,” said Howard—­his slow drawl unusually quickened—­for he, too, was touched, though he would have died rather than have admitted it, by the warmth of Sir Stephen’s reception of his son.  “I was afraid that I should be rather de trop, if not absolutely intrusive—­”

“Not at all—­not at all!” Sir Stephen broke in.  “My boy’s friends are mine, especially his own particular pal.  You are David and Jonathan, you two, I know; and Heaven forbid that I should part you!  If you’ll consider yourself one of the family, free to come and go just as you choose, I shall feel grateful to you; yes, that’s the word—­grateful!”

All this was said in the heartiest way, with the crowd of servants looking on and listening—­though, like well-trained servants, they appeared both deaf and blind for all the expression that could be seen in their faces—­then Sir Stephen led the way into the drawing-room.

“You’ve just time to dress,” he said, consulting his watch; “your man Measom has turned up, Stafford.  Mr. Howard will permit me to offer him the services of my valet—­I don’t trouble him much.  And now I’ll show you your rooms.  Like this?” he added, as he paused at the door and looked round.  “It’s one of the smaller rooms; the ladies can keep it for themselves if they like.”

“Charming!” said Howard; and the word was appropriate enough to the dainty apartment with its chaste decorations of crushed strawberry and gold, with hangings and furniture to match; with its grand piano in carved white wood and its series of water colours by some of the best of the Institute men.