For once her ladyship could find no words. She bowed, he raised his hat, the procession moved along. Then she knitted her brows thoughtfully.
“He should have been sorry in either case,” she thought, and fell to studying his face in her memory.
Meanwhile the six black horses had turned into Greensward Avenue, where likewise at a quicker rate her ladyship’s carriage was progressing.
All the way to the spacious private stables at the rear of the private grounds, Mr. Barringcourt, for it was he, led that most spoiled of all spoilt animals, Starlight. The little boys followed admiringly, till the big doors of the stable-yard closed cruelly upon them.
“That looks like a dook turned undertaker,” said one.
Rumour had spread a report that Camille Barringcourt was a twice married gentleman, with a large family.
“How unlike poor Geoffrey Todbrook,” said the ladies, and sighed.
But rumour for once was entirely wrong. One bachelor was dead; another succeeded him.
The new arrival settled quickly into his new home. Seeing it was already furnished, that was but natural. His servants were all foreigners, dark, tall, all very unlike the people on this side of Lucifram. Yet there was an inexpressible charm, dignity, and quiet repose about them that delighted and mystified everyone. Among them were some women, parlourmaids, sewing-maids, and housemaids apparently.
Each one of these servants, men and women, dressed in black, faced with deep red. It was a kind of uniform.