Stafford raised his hat slightly.

“I am the bearer of a message from the young lady in the dining-room, sir,” he said.  “She wishes me to tell you that she would prefer to remain here until the evening.”

The man swung round upon him with an alert and curious manner, half startled, half resentful.

“What the devil—­I beg your pardon!  Prefers to remain here!  Well!” He muttered something that sounded extremely like an oath, then, with a shrug of his shoulders, told the hostler to take the horses out.  “Thank you!” he said to Stafford, grudgingly.  “I suppose my daughter is tired:  very kind of you.”

“Not at all,” responded Stafford, politely; and he got on to Adonis, which Mr. Groves himself had led out, and rode away.

The gentleman looked after him with knitted brows.

“What is the name of that young fellow?” he asked of Groves.

“That is Mr. Stafford Orme, Sir Stephen’s son, sir,” replied Groves.

The gentleman was walking towards the house, but he pulled up short, his eyes narrowed themselves to slits and his thick lips closed tightly.

“A fine young fellow, sir!” said Groves, with respectful enthusiasm.  “A splendid specimen of an English gentleman!”

The gentleman grunted and went on to the dining-room.

“What whim is this, Maude?” he asked, irritably.

She yawned behind her beringed hand.

“I am tired.  I can’t face that stuffy carriage again just yet.  Let us dine here and go on afterwards in the cool.”

“Oh, just as you like,” he said.  “It makes no difference to me!”

“I know,” she assented.  Then, in an indolently casual way, she asked: 

“Who was that gentleman who rode by just now?”

Her father glanced at her suspiciously as he took off his overcoat.

“Now, how on earth should I know, my dear Maude!” he replied, with a short, harsh laugh.  “Some young farmer or cattle dealer, I imagine.”

“I said gentleman,” she retorted, with something approaching insolence.  “You will permit me to know the difference.”

Her father coloured angrily, as if she had stung him.

“You’d better go upstairs and take off your things while I order dinner,” he said.

CHAPTER IX.

As Stafford rode homewards he wondered whom the strange pair could be.  It was evident they were not going to stay at the Villa, or they would have driven straight there; but it was also evident that the gentleman had heard of Sir Stephen’s “little place,” or he would not have asked where it was; but, as Stafford reflected, rather ruefully, it would be difficult for any traveller passing through the neighbourhood not to see the new, great white house, or to hear something, perhaps a very great deal, of the man who had built it.

Howard sauntered down the hall to meet him.