In obedience to Miss Falconer's command, Howard presented himself at
Clarendon House at a comparatively early hour that evening. There were
some guests staying in the house, amongst them Lady Clansford, who was
still obliging enough to play the part of presiding genius; but they
were all resting, or dressing for the ball, and the drawing-room, into
which a couple of superbly liveried footmen showed Howard, was empty.
But presently he heard the _frou-frou_ of satin, and Maude Falconer
swept in; her beauty, the splendour of her dress, the flashing of the
diamonds in her hair and on her neck and arms, her queenly presence,
almost made Howard catch his breath.

She came in with a languid grace, the air of _hauteur_ which suited her
so well, but as she saw that Howard was alone, the languor and the
_hauteur_ almost disappeared, and she came forward and gave him her
hand, and he saw a look on her face which reminded him of that upon the
ill-fated Italian, though it did not resemble it. For the first time he
noticed a shade of anxiety on the level brow, something like a pathetic
curve in the perfectly moulded lips; and he fancied that the gloved
hand, which he held for a moment, quivered.

"Is Stafford not with you?" she asked. "I thought he was coming early.
His father expected him."

"No, I came alone," replied Howard. "But, no doubt, Stafford will be
here presently."