Mrs. Clarence and Miss Lillicrap exchanged a look. Everyone knew that the main interest of the senior members of the Bulteel ménage was to exercise a rigorous censorship over every unaccounted-for moment of their only son’s existence.
It was as a matter of course that everyone present heard the accustomed routine of question and answer gone through by Hector and his parents on the youth’s entrance into the drawing-room.
“Is that you, Hector?” said Mrs. Bulteel mildly, as soon as her son had slouched to a seat, and no further doubt of his identity could possibly prevail.
“Have you asked for your tea?” Mr. Bulteel inquired.
“The girl opened the door to me.”
Few of the boarders possessed latch-keys, and Hector was not one of these.
“That girl!” exclaimed his mother. “Better ring, and I’ll tell her.”
Mrs. Clarence looked rather awed. She would never have dared to ring the drawing-room bell for the parlour-maid.
Lydia herself had come in late for tea, and although Mr. Bulteel had handed her a cup, smiling rather apologetically, there was very little left to eat.
“There’s no more cake—nothing left!” cried old Miss Lillicrap with a sort of vicious triumph, as Lydia gazed at the empty plates on the table.