“By George, you have been quick!” said Sir Stephen, with his genial smile.

“That’s one for yourself, sir,” said Stafford.

“Oh, I?  I can dress in five minutes,” responded Sir Stephen, linking his arm in Stafford’s.  “I’m almost as good as a ‘quick-change artist.’”

He drew aside to let Howard follow the butler between the two footmen drawn up beside the door, and they entered the dining-room.

It was of choice American walnut, and lit by rose-shaded electric lights, in which the plate and the glass, the flowers and the napery glowed softly:  an ideal room which must have filled the famous decorator who had designed it with just pride and elation.  The table had been reduced to a small oval; and the servants proceeded to serve a dinner which told Howard that Sir Stephen had become possessed of a chef who was a cordon bleu.  The wines were as choice as the menu; but Sir Stephen watered his Chateau claret, and ate but little, excusing himself in the middle of a sentence with: 

“I’m setting you a bad example.  But there’s always a skeleton at my feast—­a rather common one nowadays; they call him Gout.  And so you drove down?  That must have been pleasant!  It’s a pretty country—­so I’m told.  I didn’t see much of it from the train.  But the lake—­ah, well, it’s indescribable, isn’t it!  After all one sees, one is bound to admit that there is nothing to beat English scenery; of course I include Irish.  We’ve a strain of Irish blood in us, Mr. Howard, and I always stand up for the ould counthry.  Things are looking up there lately; we’re beginning to appreciated.  Give us a year or two, and we’ll have all the world and his wife scampering over it.  I’ve a little Irish scheme of my own—­but I mustn’t bore you the first night.  Mr. Howard, if that wine is too thin—­”

Howard clutched his glass with dramatic intensity.

“Chateau Legrange, if I’m not mistaken, sir,” he said; “but let it be what it may, it’s simply perfect.”

“I’m glad.  See here, now, it’s understood between us that if there’s anything you want, anything you’d like altered, you’ll say so, eh, Stafford?” he said, with an affectionate anxiety.  “I’m a rough-and-ready kind of man, and anything pleases me; but you—­ah, well, you two have the right to be particular; and I’ll ask you to ask for just what you want—­and be sure you get it.”

Stafford glanced round the room with its costly appointments, and Sir Stephen caught the glance, and smiled.

“You’re thinking—­ah, well, no matter.  Mr. Howard, try those strawberries.  I don’t think they’re forced.  They tell me that they get them on the slope even earlier than this.  This port—­now see how nice the people in these parts are! this port came from the landlord of the—­the—­yes, The Woodman Inn.  He sent it with his respectful compliments, saying you did him the honour to praise it last night.  You stayed there, I suppose?  Surprisingly kind:  quite a Spanish bit of courtesy.  I wrote Mr.—­yes, Mr. Groves a note thanking him on your behalf, and I sent him some dry sherry which Stenson here”—­he smiled at the butler—­“tells me is rather good, eh, Stenson?”