“I am expecting Sir Seymour to-night, Murgatroyd,” she said, “about some important business. But I can’t find out where he is, so he won’t know till he goes home. That may be late. But he will come here directly he gets my message. I’m sorry to keep you up, but I should like you to let him in.”
“Certainly, my lady,” said Murgatroyd.
“I shall be waiting for him in the drawing-room. Bring me up some camomile tea, will you? And put out a cigar and whisky and Perrier for Sir Seymour.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“That’s all.”
Murgatroyd stood back to let her pass out of the room. She thought at that moment there was something sympathetic in his face.
“I believe he’s rather devoted to me, and to Seymour too,” she said to herself as she went upstairs. “I don’t think he’ll say anything to the others. Not that it matters if he does!”
Nevertheless she felt oddly shy about Seymour coming to her very late at night, and wondered what Murgatroyd thought of that long friendship. No doubt he knew, no doubt all the servants knew, how devoted to her Seymour was.
She went into the drawing-room and sat down by the fire, and very soon Murgatroyd brought in the camomile tea. Then he placed on a side table a box of cigars, whisky and Perrier water, and went out.
The clock chimed the quarter before ten.