Sir Marmaduke had been very kind, had given him a new suit of grogram, lined with flowered silk, which Lambert thought the richest garment he had ever seen.  He was very loyal in his thoughts to his employer, bearing with the latter’s violence and pandering to his fits of ill-humor for the sake of the home which Sir Marmaduke had provided for him.

To Lambert’s mind, Sir Marmaduke’s kindness to him was wholly gratuitous.  His own position as secretary being but a sinecure, the young man readily attributed de Chavasse’s interest in himself to innate goodness of heart, and desire to help the poor orphan lad.

This estimate of his employer’s character Richard Lambert had not felt any cause to modify.  He continued to serve him faithfully, to look after his interests in and around Acol Court to the best of his ability; above all he continued to be whole-heartedly grateful.  He was so absolutely conscious of the impassable social barrier which existed between himself and the rich daughter of the great Earl of Dover, that he never for a moment resented Sir Marmaduke’s sneers when they were directed against his obvious, growing love for Sue.

Remember that he had no cause to suspect Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse of any nefarious projects or of any evil intentions with regard to himself, when he told him that together they would go this night to the house of an old friend, Mrs. Endicott, where they would derive much pleasure and entertainment.

They had spent the previous night at the Swan Inn in Fleet Street and the day in visiting the beautiful sights of London, which caused the young lad from the country to open wide eyes in astonishment and pleasure.

Sir Marmaduke had been peculiarly gracious, even taking Richard with him to the Frenchman’s house in Queen’s Head Alley, where that curious beverage called coffee was dispensed and where several clever people met and discussed politics in a manner which was vastly interesting to the young man.

Then when the evening began to draw in, and Lambert thought it high time to go to bed, for ’twas a pity to burn expensive candles longer than was necessary, Sir Marmaduke had astonished his secretary by telling him that he must now clean and tidy himself for they would proceed to the house of a great lady named Mistress Endicott—­a friend of the ex-Queen Henrietta Maria and a lady of peculiar virtues and saintliness, who would give them vast and pleasing entertainment.

Lambert was only too ready to obey.  Enjoyment came naturally to him beneath his Quaker bringing-up:  his youth, good-health and pure, naturally noble intellect, all craved companionship, with its attendant pleasures and joys.  He himself could not afterwards have said exactly how he had pictured in his mind the saintly lady—­friend of the unhappy Queen—­whom he was to meet this night.

Certainly Mistress Endicott, with her red face surmounted by masses of curls that were obviously false, since they did not match the rest of her hair, was not the ideal paragon of all the virtues, and when he was first made to greet her, a strange, unreasoning instinct seemed to draw him away from her, to warn him to fly from this noisy company, from the sight of those many faces, all unnaturally flushed, and from the sounds of those strange oaths which greeted his ears from every side.