The clock pointed to a quarter past five. Lady Kesters took up the silver caddy and was proceeding to ladle out tea, when the door opened, a servant announced “Mr. Wynyard,” and a remarkably good-looking young man entered the room.
Before he could speak, Lady Kesters turned to the butler, and said—
“Payne, if any one should call, I am not at home.”
“Very good, my lady,” he replied, and softly closed the door.
A maid, who happened to be on the landing, witnessed the recent arrival and overheard the order, now winked at Payne with easy impudence, and gave a significant sniff.
“I don’t know what you’re sniffing about,” he said peevishly. “I suppose you will allow her ladyship to receive her own brother in peace and comfort, seeing as he is just back from South America, and she hasn’t laid eyes on him for near a year.”
“Oh, so that’s her brother, is it?” said the young woman; “and an uncommonly fine young chap—better looking than her ladyship by long chalks!”
“You go down to your tea and leave her ladyship’s looks alone. I don’t know what you’re doing hanging about this landing at such an hour of the day.”
Payne was an old servant in the Wynyard family, and he was aware it had been generally said that “Master Owen had the looks and Miss Leila the brains.” Master Owen was always a wild, harum-scarum young fellow, and it wasn’t at all unlikely that he had got into one of his scrapes. With this conviction implanted in his mind, Payne deliberately descended the stairs, issued an edict to one of the footmen, and retired into his lair and the evening paper.