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Ida's lips moved, but she could not speak. The whole scene seemed to rise before her; but, naturally enough, her thoughts were concentrated upon one figure in it, that of Stafford. "Then then Mr. Stafford Orme is now the baronet, Sir Stafford?" she said in a scarcely audible voice. "No; he is now Lord Highcliffe.
First comes Highcliffe, this has perhaps the most developed "front," then Barton, nearly two miles from New Milton station, and lastly Milford-on-Sea, the most interesting of them all, but suffering in popularity by reason of the long road, over four miles, that connects it with the nearest stations, Lymington or New Milton; possibly its regular habitués look upon this as a blessing in disguise.
"Lord Highcliffe is not here to answer questions." "Then what's he here for?" retorted another man whose loss amounted to a few hundreds, but who was more excited and venomous than those who had many thousands at stake. "He's all right. He's a lord a pretty lord! and I'm told the gentleman he's next to is his future father-in-law, and is rolling in money " "Order! order!" called Griffenberg.
He evinced no sign of relief, the colour did not rise to his face, and his eyes were still fixed on Falconer. "It was a very wise provision," said Mr. Chaffinch, approvingly. "And distinctly one I should have recommended; but Sir Stephen Lord Highcliffe did it of his own accord.
He glanced at Stafford and knit his brows, but dropped heavily into a chair, and sat with stony face and half-lowered lids. He had scarcely taken his seat when Howard entered in his quiet fashion, and he went and stood just behind Stafford. "I was just telling the meeting, Lord Highcliffe, that I was afraid we were in a bad way." said Griffenberg.
"We thought you were aware of the existence of the deed; that your father had informed you, Lord Highcliffe." "What deed?" asked Stafford, dully. "I am sorry to appear so dense; but I have not the least idea of your meaning. As you say, Mr. Falconer, I know nothing of business."
Stafford stopped and looked at him with a dull, vacant gaze. "A pauper!" repeated Falconer, huskily. "I daresay," said Stafford, wearily. "And you an earl!" said Falconer, his face a brick-dust red. "Do you think they will have any pity? Not they. They'll take you at your word. They'll have every penny! How do you mean to live? You, the Earl of Highcliffe!"
"I never think of my friend, Lord Highcliffe, without recalling those significant lines of William Watson's." He looked at her; and be it said that his eyes were fine and impressive ones when he showed them plainly. "These are the lines: "'I do not ask to have my fill Of wine, of love, or fame. I do not for a little ill Against the gods exclaim.
When he informed them that Lord Highcliffe had died practically insolvent, a murmur arose, a deep guttural murmur which was something between a hiss and a groan, and it was while this unpleasant sound was filling the room that Stafford entered. The groan, if groan it can be called, died away, and they all turned and looked at his pale and careworn face.
"Yes," said Ida in a low voice. "Did you say that Mr. Orme Lord Highcliffe is well?" "Oh, yes; he is all right now," replied Howard; "he has been ill a fever of some kind or other, I believe but he has recovered; he is a monster of strength, as you may have heard. But I am afraid he is very unhappy: something on what he calls his mind he is not very intellectual, you know "
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