"Demme, yes!" cried the Marquis, "we are all our divine Betty's miserable humble, obedient slaves to command——"
"'Tis excellent well!" exclaimed my lady gaily, "miserable slaves, I greet you one and all and 'tis now my will, mandate and command that you shall attend dear my aunt whiles I question this most placid sufferer as to his torments. Major, your hand—pray let us walk!"
As one in a dream he took her soft fingers in his and let her lead him whither she would. Side by side they passed through stately rooms lit by windows rich with stained glass; beneath carved and gilded ceilings, along broad corridors, up noble stairways and down again, she full of blithe talk, he rather more silent even than usual. She quizzed the grim effigies in armour, bowed airily to the portraits, peeped into cupboards and corners, viewing all things with quick, appraising, feminine eyes while he, looking at this and that as she directed him, was conscious only of her.
"'Tis a fine house!" she said critically, "and yet it hath, methinks, a sad and plaintive air. 'Tis all so big and desolate!"
"Desolate!" said he, thoughtfully.
"And lonely and cold, and empty and—ha'n't you noticed it, sir?"
"Why, no!"
"I marvel!"
"As for lonely, mam, they tell me I am naturally so, and then I have my work."
"And that, sir?"