Trevor flushed, but he turned it off lightly.
“These are our old butler and housekeeper, Vanleigh,” he said. “Mrs Lloyd there was almost like a mother to me as a child.”
“Indeed,” said Vanleigh, superciliously; and Sir Felix fixed his glass and had a good stare at the old lady, who looked every whit the mistress of the house.
“Grey mare?” he said, in a whisper.
“Old favoured servants,” said Trevor, in return; and the young men walked into the drawing-room.
“Don’t stand staring there,” said Mrs Lloyd, fiercely, to the footman; “take up these portmantees.”
The man gave her a surly look.
“He’ll go to ruin, that he will,” said Mrs Lloyd, in a voice of suppressed anger, to her husband, as soon as they were alone; “and there you stand without a word to say for yourself.”
“Well, what can I do, my dear?” said Lloyd, feebly.
“Nothing—nothing; what you have always done—nothing. But I’ll stop it soon. I won’t be made quite a nonentity of. Where’s that girl? Go and look for her. Or, no, you must see to the dinner; and mind this, Lloyd—she’s to be kept out of sight while these fine sparks are here. I don’t like the looks of that dark fellow at all.”