A great wave of thankfulness came over him that, his gracious lady—­innocent, tender, beautiful Lady Sue, had not come to London with her guardian.  Whilst he gazed on the marvels of Westminster Hall and of old Saint Paul’s he had longed that she should be near him, so that he might watch the brilliance of her eyes, and the glow of pleasure which, of a surety would have mantled in her cheeks when she was shown the beauties of the great city.

But now he was glad—­very glad, that Sir Marmaduke had so sternly ordained that she should remain these few days alone at Acol in charge of Mistress Charity and of Master Busy.  At the time he had chafed bitterly at his own enforced silence:  he would have given all he possessed in the world for the right to warn Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse that a wolf was prowling in the fold under cover of the night.  He had seen Lady Sue’s eyes brighten at the dictum that she was to remain behind—­they told him in eloquent language the joy she felt to be free for two days that she might meet her prince undisturbed.

But all these thoughts and fears had fled the moment Lambert found himself in the midst of these people, whom he innocently believed to be great ladies and noble gentlemen, friends of his employer Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse.  It seemed to him at once as if there was something here—­in this room—­which he would not wish Lady Sue to see.

He was clumsy and gauche in his movements as he took the hand which Mistress Endicott extended to him, but he tried to imitate the salute which he had seen his employer give on the flat—­not very clean—­finger-tips of the lady.

She was exceedingly gracious to him, saying with great kindliness and a melancholy sigh: 

“Ah! you come from the country, master? ...  So delightful, of a truth....  Milk for breakfast, eh? ...  You get up at dawn and go to bed at sunset? ...  I know country life well—­though alas! duty now keeps me in town....  But ’tis small wonder that you look so young!”

He tried to talk to her of the country, for here she had touched on a topic which was dear to him.  He knew all about the birds and beasts, the forests and the meadows, and being unused to the art of hypocritical interest, he took for real sympathy the lady’s vapid exclamations of enthusiasm, with which she broke in now and again upon his flow of eloquence.

Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, who was watching the young man with febrile keenness, had the satisfaction to note that very soon Richard began to throw off his bucolic timidity, his latent yet distinctly perceptible disapproval of the company into which he had been brought.  He sought out his sister-in-law and drew her attention to Lambert in close conversation with Mrs. Endicott.

“Is everything arranged?” he asked under his breath.

“Everything,” she replied.

“No trouble with our henchmen?”

“A little ... but they are submissive now.”