“Major Rockley’s servant to see you, miss.”
Claire started from her seat and looked at Footman Isaac with a troubled expression that was full of shame and dread.
She dropped her eyes on the instant as she thought of her position.
It was four o’clock, and the promenade on cliff and pier in full swing. Her father would not be back for two hours, Morton was away somewhere, and it was so dreadful—so degrading—to be obliged to see her brother, the prodigal, in the servants’ part of the house.
For herself she would not have cared, but it was lowering her brother; and, trying to be calm and firm, she said:
“Show him in here, Isaac.”
“In here, miss?”
“Yes.”
“Please ma’am, master said—”
“Show him in here, Isaac,” said Claire, drawing herself up with her eyes flashing, and the colour returning to her cheeks.