CHAPTER X.

“A very old friend of your father!” said Mr. Falconer, and his keen eyes looked into Stafford’s as he held out his hand.  Then he turned to Sir Stephen, whose face had resumed its usual serenity, and was fixed in the smile appropriate to the occasion.  “Mr. Stafford Orme and I have met before to-day—­”

Sir Stephen shot an enquiring glance from one to the other.

—­“At the inn at the other side of the lake.  My daughter, Maude, and I have been resting there for a few hours.  Maude,” he said to that young lady, who was standing looking on at the group generally, but more particularly, under her lids, at Stafford’s tall figure; “this is a very strange meeting between old friends.  Sir Stephen Orme and I haven’t met for—­how long ago is it, Orme?”

Sir Stephen shook his head, and raised his thick, dark brows.

“Too long for us to go back—­especially in the presence of these young people, whom we are always trying to persuade that we are not old.  I am delighted to see you, my dear young lady, and I am devoured by curiosity to know how it is that you are here.”

“Well, we owe it to your son, Mr. Orme here, I should imagine, Sir Stephen,” she replied.  She had fully recovered her self-possession, and her manner and voice had all the tone of pride and indolence which Stafford had noticed when he met her at the inn.  “If he had not stopped the horses, I suppose we should have either been killed or on the way to the nearest hospital.  By the way, have you thanked Mr. Orme yet, father?”

“Not yet; and I shall find it difficult to do so,” said Mr. Falconer.  “Thanks are poor return for one’s life, Mr. Orme.  I hope you were not hurt.”  He glanced at Stafford’s usually immaculate dress-clothes, which were covered with dust on one side, and displayed a rent in the sleeve of the coat.

“Oh, that’s all right, sir,” returned Stafford, with all an Englishman’s dread of a fuss.  “They stopped short the moment I got hold of them, and I only slipped, and got up directly.

“You are not hurt, then, Stafford?” said Sir Stephen.  “As I came up I thought, was afraid that you were smashed up—­and I daresay I showed my fear:  it’s my only boy, Falconer.”

He looked at his old friend meaningly, and Falconer promptly backed him up.

“Well, yes, you looked fairly startled and scared,” he said.  “But now, if the horses are all right, we may as well get on.  We have given you quite trouble enough.”

“The horses are all right, sir,” said the driver.  “I’ve managed to take up the broken trace; it was that that startled them, sir, and they’ll be quiet enough now.”

“Oh, but where are you going?” said Sir Stephen, with hospitable eagerness.  “Were you not coming to us, to the Villa?”

“No; we were going to Keswick,” said Mr. Falconer.  “My daughter had a fancy for seeing the lake district, and we are making a kind of tour.”