Before going to bed, Stafford and Eugene managed to get a few words together.  Leaving the other men, except the Bishop, who was already at rest, in the billiard-room, they strolled out together on to the terrace.

“Well, old man, how are you getting on?” asked Eugene.

“Capitally! stronger every day in body and happier in mind.  I grumbled a great deal when I first broke down, but now I’m not sure a rest isn’t good for me.  You can stop and have a look where you are going to.”

“And you think you can stand it?”

“Stand what, my dear fellow?”

“Why, the life you lead—­a life studiously emptied of everything that makes life pleasant.”

“Ah! you are like Lady Claudia!” said Stafford, smiling.  “I can tell you, though, what I can hardly tell her.  There are some men who can make no terms with the body.  Does that sound very mediaeval?  I mean men who, unless they are to yield utterly to pleasure, must have no dealings with it.”

“You boycott pleasure for fear of being too fond of it?”

“Yes; I don’t lay down that rule for everybody.  For me it is the right and only one.”

“You think it right for a good many people, though?”

“Well, you know, the many-headed beast is strong.”

“For me?”

“Wait till I get at you from the pulpit.”

“No; tell me now.”

“Honestly?”

“Of course!  I take that for granted.”

“Well, then, old fellow,” said he, laying a hand on Eugene’s arm, with a slight gesture of caress not unusual with him, “in candor and without unkindness, yes!”

“I could never do it,” said Eugene.

“Perhaps not—­or, at least, not yet.”

“Too late or too early, is it?”

“It may be so, but I will not say so.”

“You know I think you’re all wrong?”

“I know.”

“You will fail.”

“God forbid! but if he pleases—­”

“After all, what are meat, wine, and—­and so on for?”

“That argument is beneath you, Eugene.”

“So it is.  I beg your pardon.  I might as well ask what the hangman is for if nobody is to be hanged.  However, I’m determined that you shall enjoy yourself for a week here, whether you like it or not.”

Stafford smiled gently and bade him good-night.  A moment later Bob Territon emerged from the open windows of the billiard-room.

“Of all dull dogs, Haddington’s the worst; however, I’ve won five pound of him!  Hist!  Is the Father here?”

“I am glad to say he is not.”

“Oh!  Have you squared it with Miss Kate?  I saw something was up.”

“Miss Bernard’s heart, Bob, and mine again beat as one.”

“What was it particularly about?”

“An immaterial matter.”

“I say, did you see the Father and Claudia?”

“No.  What do you mean?”

“Gammon!  I tell you what, Eugene, if Claudia really puts her back into it, I wouldn’t give much for that vow of celibacy.”