Edith vanished to take off her cloak, and he, who must wait for her, was left alone with that black, smiling demon.
“Glad to see you back safe and sound, Colonel,” he said, as he took his coat.
“Wish I could say the same,” grunted Rupert involuntarily.
The butler thought a little, for this cryptic sentence puzzled him; then taking the point, as he imagined, went on:
“Ah! I daresay you feel the changes, sir—in this establishment, I mean. Well,”—and he glanced cautiously, first behind him and then at the powdered footmen by the door, “I am sure you won’t betray me, sir, if I say that so do we. Her second ladyship, sir, isn’t what her first ladyship was,” and he sighed with genuine regret, for most of the servants had been very fond of poor Clara, who always tried to shield them from his lordship’s anger, and was generous. “Her present ladyship, sir, preaches and drives, and makes us read tracts, sir,” he added, with peculiar bitterness, “whereas we loved her first ladyship”—here his voice sank to a whisper—“almost as much as you did, sir.”
At this moment, to Rupert’s intense relief, for really his head was swimming beneath the horror of these confidences, the double front doors were thrown wide, and through them walked a stiff, poker-like man wearing an eyeglass, who, he gathered, was Lord Southwick. The butler, whose somewhat saturnine appearance in truth covered an excellent heart, and who really was delighted to see Rupert, if for no other reason, because his late mistress had been so fond of him, was obliged to step forward to take Lord Southwick’s coat. At this moment, too, Edith arrived, looking radiant in a dress of black and silver, saying:
“Now, Rupert, I am ready.”
“So am I, I am sure,” he answered.
“Well, don’t be reproachful, I have not been very long,” and she fixed her gaze upon his head.
“Is anything wrong with my hair?” he asked, becoming aware of it.