“Will you give this cup to your master, Temple?” asked Gwen, handing the teacup to the valet with the grace with which she would have addressed a Peer of the Realm. “One moment,” said Lionel, as Temple was preparing to leave the room. “I have often, since the storm, wanted to ask you how it was you were so much more respectful than you used to be? I used to wish you frequently at the bottom of the sea, with your impertinent and supercilious manners. Why have you altered?” “I am afraid, Mrs Archibald, you have come in at a wrong time, and your delicate feelings will be hurt,” said Sinclair, bowing to the diaphanous vision of past smartness, to whom he handed a plate of sandwiches. “_A la guerre comme à la guerre_, my dear fellow; I have made up my mind to the worst.” “It would be easier to explain my past behaviour, my lord, than to account for my present manner. I have been for many years in your lordship’s service, and I only now realise how little we understood each other.” “Had you no proper respect for your masters?” This was Mrs Archibald, who between two mouthfuls felt it her duty to bring the discussion down to a proper level. Temple hung his head, and twisted his fingers. One could hear the monotonous tick-tack of the empire clock. “Do not hesitate to say whatever you feel, Temple,” remarked Gwen. “Well, if your lordship will allow me to say so, I think we all looked up to the aristocracy as an institution; just as we honoured the Royal Family and the House of Commons. But we did not think much of them as individuals, and felt irritable with our employers.” “What a shocking word to use for your _superiors_,” and Mrs Archibald raised her eyelids as she laid a stress on the last word. “Was I a worse master, than any other?” inquired Lionel. “Dear Mrs Archibald, you have nothing to eat,” and he handed a plate of cakes to her. “I think you are making a fool of yourself Lionel,” she remarked in a low tone. “Well, Temple, you do not answer my question. Forget that you are my valet, as I shall forget I am Lord Somerville. Let us stand man to man, after these long centuries of grievances and misunderstandings.” “For the first time in my career of a valet, I feel that I can speak to you as a man; but I cannot explain why it is.” “It must be that we have no clothes, Temple,” cheerfully said Sinclair, who had moved away from the window and stood leaning on the back of Eva’s couch. “Yes, one man’s as good as another,” remarked Lionel. “But do you not think that you all envied us very much; for you certainly aped all our ways?”