Stafford sighed.

“Oh, you’ll be all right,” he said; “but I don’t quite see where I shall come in.”

Howard laughed.

“My dear Stafford, there are some extremely pretty girls with whom you can flirt, and I’ve no doubt some of the men will join you in your eccentric attempts to drown yourself or break your neck. Is that the sun coming out, and is it going to clear?”

“I hope so,” said Stafford, laughing.  “For I prophesied a fine evening, and a lady was weak enough to take my word for it.  Let us go and rake my father out of the library, and get him into the garden with a cigar.”

“You may venture upon such an audacity, but not I,” said Howard, with simulated fear.  “I’ll wait for you on the terrace.”

Sir Stephen looked up with a frown as Stafford entered, and the dark-faced secretary stared aghast at the intrusion; but Sir Stephen’s face cleared as he saw who it was.

“Back, Stafford?” he said.  “What?  Come into the garden—­cigar?  Certainly!  You can finish up, can’t you, Murray?  Thanks!” He looked at his watch as they went through the hall.  “I suppose some of the people will be here before long.  Did Mr. Howard show you the list?  Do you know any of them.  Stafford?”

“Yes, I’ve met Lady Clansford and the Fitzharfords, of course; but most of them are too great and lofty.  I mean that they are celebrated personages, out of my small track.  One doesn’t often meet Sir William Plaistow and Mr. Griffinberg at at homes and afternoon teas.”  Sir Stephen laughed.

“Oh, well, you mustn’t let them bore you, you know, my boy.  You must consider yourself quite free to cut off and amuse yourself some other way whenever you get tired of them.”

“And leave it all to you, sir!” said Stafford, with a smile; but as he spoke he drew a breath of relief; he should be free to help the beautiful, lovely girl of Herondale.

A few hours later the visitors arrived, and before dinner the superb drawing-room was, if not crowded, sufficiently well filled with the brilliant company.

Nearly all the guests were extremely wealthy, most of them were powerful, either in the region of politics or finance; and the fashionable world was represented by some beautiful women with dresses and diamonds above reproach, and some young men whose names stood high at Hurlingham and Prinses.

Stafford stood beside his father as Sir Stephen went from group to group, greeting one and another in his frank and genial yet polished manner, which grew warm and marked by scarcely repressed pride, as he introduced Stafford.

“My son, Lady Fitzharford.  I think he has had the pleasure of meeting you?  I scarcely know who are his friends:  we have been separated so long!  But we are restored to each other at last, I am happy to say!  Lady Clansford, you know my boy?  Ah, he has had the advantage of me all these years; he has not had to rush all over Europe, but has been able to bask in the sunshine of grace and beauty.  Griffinberg, I want my son to know you.  You and I are such old friends that you won’t mind me showing that I am proud of him, eh?” and he laid his hand on Stafford’s shoulder with an air of pride and affection.