guardians. Before, it had mattered little to her, for she was not of it. Now it was very different.

Slowly David followed Clark to his own apartments. He had been given those of the old lord, his uncle. Everything about him was dark, massive, and rich, but without grace. His bags and boxes had been unpacked and his dinner suit laid in readiness, and Clark stood stiffly awaiting orders.

“Will you have a shave, my lord?”

The man’s manner jarred on him. It was obsequious, and he hated it. Yet it was only the custom. Clark was simple-hearted and kindly, filling his little place in the upholding of the system of which he was a part; had his manner been different, a shade more familiar, David would have resented it and ordered him out,