“A many do come to see the ‘ouse, ma’m, with a permit from ‘is lordship, ma’m. ‘E’s not ‘ere now, but strangers are halways welcome — to the gallery, ma’m.”

“Yes, I’m a stranger.” She caught at the word. Seized by an inward terror of the small eyes fixed curiously on her, she intuitively shrank from betraying her identity, and the old servant had told her what she needed to know. Of course her husband was “his lordship,” over here. “I am from America, and I would like to see the gallery.” She must do so to give a pretext for having come to visit an empty house. David must not be compromised before the old servant, but a great lump filled her throat, and tears were burning unshed beneath her eyes.