Habit cleared Budge's mind as it cleared his face. Setting down his lamp carefully on the table in the hall, he went into the library with just the proper expression of being uncertain he had heard.
"You called, Miss Dorothy?" said the public face of Mr. Budge.
Even though his mind was a sponged slate, he could not help noticing a startling (almost shocking) fact. The wall safe was open. He knew its position, behind the portrait of Mr. Timothy, his late master; but in fifteen years he had never seen it indecently naked and open. This he observed even before his automatic glance at the fireplace, to see that the wood was drawing well. Miss Dorothy sat in one of the big hard chairs, with a paper in her hands.
"Budge," she said, "will you ask Mr. Herbert to step downstairs?"
A hesitation. "Mr. Herbert is not in his room, Miss Dorothy."
"Will you find him, then, please?"
"I believe Mr. Herbert is not in the house," said Budge, as though he had given some problem deep consideration and were arriving at a decision.
She dropped the paper into her lap. "Budge, what on earth do you mean?"
"He — er — mentioned no prospective departure, Miss Dorothy? Thank you."
"Good Heavens, no! Where would he be going?"