He stopped outside the door and tapped gently:
"Come in," called out a decisive voice, and, turning the handle, Parkes stepped forward.
"Master Guy, milady," said he, as though I were about fourteen, and just come home for the holidays.
Lady Bulstrode, who had been writing letters, jumped up with surprising alacrity.
"My dear boy!" she said, taking my hand in both of hers. "My dear boy! I am so pleased to see you!"
She looked just as she did when I had seen her last in London, five years before—old, shrewd, and kindly, with the same twinkling black eyes, and, unless I am much mistaken, precisely the same wig.
"It's charming of you to remember me at all," I said. "Parkes tells me I've grown so big and black that no one would know me."
Parkes, who was still standing by the door, made a kind of expostulating murmur, and Lady Bulstrode, with a laugh, pushed me gently backwards into a chair.
"Sit down!" she said. "Sit down and let me have a good look at you." Then, turning to Parkes, she added: "Bring the whisky and soda up here, Parkes. I am sure Mr. Guy would like a drink after his travels."
As the old man went out, Rufus, who up till then had been keeping modestly in the background, apparently decided that it was time he introduced himself. Anyhow, he came squirming out from under the sofa and sat down with much tail-wagging, in the middle of the room.