Mr. Bardy adjusted his eyeglass in his eye and gazed at the girl. His face wore an expression of pain mingled with compassion.
“I will see Lady Margaret after lunch,” he said rather stiffly.
Then the door opened and Bude appeared.
“Luncheon is served, Miss!”
He stood there, a portly, dignified figure in sober black, solemn of visage, sonorous of voice, a living example of the triumph of established tradition over the most savage buffetings of Fate. His enunciation was, if anything, more mellow, his demeanour more pontifical than of yore.
Bude was once more in the service of a County Family.
THE END