“I’m glad!” responded Sir Stephen.  “But I mustn’t keep you.  We’ll go over the place after dinner—­or some other time.  To-night we are alone; the party doesn’t come up till to-morrow.  I wanted to have you, Stafford—­and your friend—­to myself before the crowd arrived.”

They followed him up the broad stairs, which by low and easy steps led up to the exquisite corridor, harmonising perfectly with the eastern hall, on to which it looked through arches shaped and fitted in Oriental fashion.

“Here is your room.  Ah, Measom! here is Mr. Stafford, Got everything ready for him, I hope?—­and here, next door almost, is Mr. Howard’s.  This is a snuggery in between—­keep your books and guns and fishing-rods in it, don’t you know.  Mr. Howard, you play, I think?  There’s a piano, Hope you’ll like the view.  Full south, with nothing between you and the lake.  I’m not far off.  See?  Just opposite, You may find the rooms too hot, Stafford—­Mr. Howard—­and we’ll change ’em, of course.  Don’t hurry:  hope you’ll find everything you want!”

He laid his hand on Stafford’s shoulder and nodded at him with frank affection, before he went, and as he closed the door they heard him say to some one below: 

“Don’t serve the dinner till Mr. Stafford comes down!”

Stafford went to the window, and Howard stood in silence beside him for a moment, then he said—­Measom had left the room: 

“I congratulate you, Staff!  In sackcloth and ashes, I confess I thought that kind of father only existed in women’s books and emotional plays.”

Stafford nodded.

“He’s—­he’s kindness itself,” he said, in a very low voice and not turning his head.  “I didn’t know that he was like—­this.  I didn’t know he cared—­”

“It’s evident he cares very much!” said Howard, gravely.  “If you were the Prodigal Son he couldn’t have felt it more.”

“And yet they say—­that bagman said—­” muttered Stafford with smouldering rage and indignation.

“There are few things in my life that I regret, my dear Staff; but till my dying day I shall regret that I did not turn and rend that bagman!  He’s a splendid fellow—­splendid!  Now I’ve seen him I don’t wonder at his success.  Envy is not one of my numerous vices, Staff; but frankly I envy you your father!  Wake up, old man!  We mustn’t keep him waiting!  What quarters!” He looked round the room as he moved to go.  “Fit for a prince!  But you are a prince!  Why, dash it, I feel like a prince myself!  How are you, Measom?  Got down all right, then?—­I’ll give you a knock when I’m ready, Stafford!”

Stafford dressed quickly, thinking all the while of his father; of his good looks, his deep, pleasant voice, his affectionate welcome; and thrusting from him the unfavourable impression which the ornate splendour of the place had made.

Howard knocked presently and the two men went down.  Sir Stephen was waiting in the hall; and Stafford, with a little thrill of pride, noticed that he looked still more distinguished in his evening-dress, which was strikingly plain; a single pearl—­but it was priceless one—­was its only ornament.