"Beg your
pardon, sir."
"Hulloa!" he cried. "Who are you, my man?"
"Glyde, sir. Is all well?"
"What do you mean, Glyde? What are you doing?"
"I was passing, sir, to my houses. I heard voices, and I wondered--"
"Oh!" he laughed. "You thought there was a scrap, did you? It's all right,
Glyde. I and the master were having a talk. Nothing for you to worry
about. I shared his lonely meal. Don't you be disturbed."
"No, no, sir. Thank you, sir."
Chevenix called to him when he was at some distance. "I say, Glyde."
"Yes, sir?"
"You can go to bed. It's all right."
"Thank you, sir. Good-night."
He chuckled as he undressed. "Rum fish, Glyde. Watch and ward, what?
Watching his shield. Bless her, she's got friends, then." He considered
for a while, flicking the glowing end of his cigar. "That chap--Senhouse--
Jack Senhouse. I wonder what's become of him."
VIII
The discrepancies of an unfortunate party caused no disturbance to the
staff of Wanless Hall. Sanchia, whatever her private cares--and they
seemed less than those of other people on her account--suffered nothing to
interfere with her housekeeping. Ingram might rage for her in vain,
Chevenix agonise, or quarrel with his host and friend, Mrs.
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