“Not hurt, my boy?” he said, in a tone of strained anxiety.

Stafford was beginning to get tired of the question, and answered rather impatiently:  “Not in the least sir—­why should I be!  I’ll change my things and be down in five minutes!”

“Yes, yes!” Sir Stephen still eyed him with barely concealed anxiety.  “Strange coincidence, Stafford!  I—­I haven’t seen Ralph Falconer for—­for—­ever so many years!  And he is thrown at my very gate!  And they say there is no such thing as Fate—­”

“Hadn’t you better go into the drawing-room, sir,” Stafford reminded him.  “They’ll think something has happened.”

“Eh?  Yes, yes, of course!” said Sir Stephen, with a little start as if he had been lost in thought; but he waited until he saw Stafford walk up the stairs, without any sign of a limp, before he followed his son’s advice.

The butler, who was too sharp to need any instructions, quickly served a choice little dinner for the unexpected guests, and Stafford, who had waited in the hall, accompanied them into the dining-room.  Miss Falconer had changed her travelling-dress for a rich evening-frock, and the jewels Stafford had noticed were supplemented by some remarkably fine diamonds.

“I wish you had come in time for dinner!” he said, as he conducted her to her seat.

“So do I!” she returned, serenely.  “We are giving a great deal of trouble; and we are keeping you from your guests.  The maid who waited on me told me that you had a large house party.”

“Yes,” said Stafford.  “It is a kind of house-warming.  My father intends settling in England for some time, I think,” he added.  “And he has built this place.”

Mr. Falconer looked up from his plate in his alert, watchful way.

“Sir Stephen’s plans rather uncertain?” he said.  “I remember he always used to be rather erratic.  Well, if he means settling, he’s made himself a very cosy nest.”  He looked round the magnificent room with a curious smile.  “A wonderful man, your father, Mr. Orme!”

“Yes?” said Stafford, with a non-committal smile.

“Yes; of course, I’ve heard of his great doings—­who hasn’t!  Did you ever hear him speak of me—­we were great friends one time?”

“No, I don’t think I have,” replied Stafford.  “But as I was telling Miss Falconer, I have not seen very much of him.”  “Ah, yes, just so,” assented Mr. Falconer, and he went on with his dinner.

Stafford had taken a seat at the table and poured out a glass of wine so that they might not hurry; but he felt that he need not have been anxious on that account, for the girl ate her dinner in a most leisurely manner, talking to him in her soft, slow voice and looking at him from under her half-closed lids.  She talked of the scenery, of the quaint inns and hotels they had put up at, of the various inconveniences which she had suffered on the way; then suddenly she raised her lids and looked at him fully and steadily.