She asked him casually who were coming.
“Men connected with the business of the Ministry,” he replied. “People I must be civil to and who don’t expect us to worry about their women-folk.”
And she had to be contented with the answer.
On the Saturday afternoon, at Moulsford, she was surprised to see Rolliter, the old butler, who she thought was staying the night at Belgrave Square to superintend the dinner party. Why was he here?
“Mr. Donnithorpe’s orders, my lady. He said he could get on quite well without me this evening. I couldn’t insist, my lady, but I didn’t like leaving at all, especially as Lord Trevanion was coming.”
“Lord who?” she cried, for he had mentioned a name that was anathema maranatha in Government circles.
“I think it’s Trevanion, my lady,” said the butler, rather taken aback by her expression of incredulity. He fished a paper from his pocket and consulted it. “Yes, my lady. I saw the list on Mr. Donnithorpe’s table, so I copied it out so as to write the name-cards before I left.”
An idea struck her. “You did this without Mr. Donnithorpe’s orders?”
“Why, yes, my lady. Mr. Donnithorpe being so busy, I thought it might slip his memory.”
“Did you write the cards?”