At that moment the door opened, and Mrs Lloyd appeared, bearing a waiter with four flat candlesticks, and looking the very image of austerity.
“The house is all locked up now, sir,” she said, in a cold, hard voice. “It is half-past ten.”
“Thank you, Mrs Lloyd,” said Trevor, and his face twitched with annoyance.
“Is half-past ten—bedtime—Mrs Lloyd?” said Pratt, laying down his cards.
“Yes, sir, it is,” said Mrs Lloyd, severely.
“And you’ve brought us our candles,” said Frank, taking the waiter. “Thank you, Mrs Lloyd; don’t you sit up. Good night.”
Pratt’s good-humoured, smiling face puzzled the housekeeper. She allowed herself to be backed out, and the door closed behind her.
Two Scenes.
Matters had not been very pleasant in the neighbourhood of Mrs Lloyd that night Polly had escaped by being a prisoner; but the butler had been reduced, between fear of his wife and a burst of passion from his master, into a state of semi-idiocy; while the rest of the servants, after one or two encounters, had had a meeting, and declared—being, for the most part, newly engaged in consequence of the young heir’s return—that if that woman was to do as she liked in the house, they’d serve their month and then go.