“Oh, no, my lady,” said the steward, quickly; “only I fear that your ladyship has been imposed upon?”
Syd moved to the mantelpiece and began to examine the mechanism of a magnificent skeleton clock.
“Imposed upon? But the girl has gone to the situation in town?”
“Ahem! No, my lady; the report I hear is that she has gone to fulfil an engagement with some dramatic agent who trains young people for—”
“The theatre?”
“No, my lady, for the music-halls.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Lady Lisle. “Dreadful—dreadful!”
Syd’s face was a study in the mirror behind the clock, as he placed one foot on the polished kerb and screwed up his mouth, listening with all his might.
“Yes, my lady, it is very sad. But I’m afraid that several of the better-looking girls in the neighbourhood have had their heads turned by the great success which has attended a Miss Mary Ann Simpkins in London.”
Crash!