Stafford went into the box and looked at the horse.  It was a magnificent, light-weight hunter—­the kind of horse that makes a riding-man’s heart jump.

“I should say that there are not two better horses of their sort in the county,” Stafford said, solemnly, and with a flush of his handsome face.

Sir Stephen’s eyes gleamed.

“That’s all right:  they can’t be too good, Stafford.”

The head groom, Davis by name, stood, with Pottinger and some underlings, at a little distance in attendance, and the men exchanged glances and nods.

“Have you seen these, Pottinger?” asked Stafford, turning to him, and speaking in the tone which servants love.

Pottinger touched his forehead.

“Yes, sir; they’re first rate, and no mistake.  I’ve just been telling Mr. Davis he’s got a splendid lot, sir—­splendid!”

“Not but what your own pair ’ud be hard to beat, sir,” said Davis, respectfully.  “There’s a mare here, Sir Stephen, I should like to show Mr. Stafford.”

The mare was taken out into the yard, and Stafford examined her and praised her with a judgment and enthusiasm which filled Davis’s heart with pride.

“Your young guv’nor’s the right sort, Pottinger,” he remarked as Stafford at last reluctantly tore himself away from the stables.  “Give me a master as understands a horse and I don’t mind working for him.”

Pottinger nodded and turned the straw in his mouth.

“If you’re alludin’ to Mr. Stafford, then you’ll enjoy your work, Mr. Davis; for you’ve got what you want.  What my guv’nor don’t know about a ’oss isn’t worth knowing.”

“So I should say,” assented Davis, emphatically.  “I do hate to have a juggins about the place.  Barker, is that a spot o’ rust on that pillar-chain, or is my eyesight deceiving me?  No, my men, if there’s the slightest thing askew when Mr. Stafford walks round, I shall break my heart—­and sack the man who’s responsible for it.  Pottinger, if you’d like that pair o’ yours moved, if you think they ain’t comfortable, you say so, and moved they shall be.”

As Sir Stephen and Stafford strolled back to the house the former paused now and again to point out something he wished Stafford to see, always appealing for his approval.

“Everything is perfect, sir,” Stafford said at last.  “And, above all, the situation,” he added as he looked at the magnificent view, the opal lake mirroring the distant mountains, flecked by the sunlight and the drifting clouds.

“Yes, I was fortunate in getting it,” remarked Sir Stephen.

Instantly there flashed across Stafford’s mind—­and not for the first time that morning—­the words Ida Heron had spoken respecting the way in which Sir Stephen had obtained the land.  Looking straight before him, he asked: 

“How did you get it, sir?  I have heard that it was difficult to buy land here for building purposes.”