“Good-morning, my lady,” she said, gently, in answer to Bettina’s friendly salutation. “Will your ladyship not have a shawl? This room is always cool, no matter what the weather is.”
Bettina declined the wrap, but passed on to the next picture, requesting the woman to come with her and act as cicerone.
“What is your name? I ought to know it,” she said.
“Parlett, your ladyship.”
“And how long have you lived here, Parlett?”
“Over forty years, my lady. I was here in the old lord’s time. That is his picture, with his lady next to him.”
Bettina looked with interest at the two pictures designated.
“He is thought to be very much like his present lordship,” said the housekeeper.
“Yes, I see it,” said Bettina, feeling an instinct to guard her countenance. Here were the same keen eyes, the same resolute jaw, the same thin lips and hard lines about the mouth. Only in the older face they were yet more accentuated, and instead of the not unbecoming thinness of hair which showed in the son, there was a frank expanse of bald head which made his features all the harder.