‘Good-night, sir,’ said Mary, in her gentle voice, breathing infinite pity.

‘Good-night, child,’ he growled.  ‘I am sorry you have married an ass.’

This was more than Mary could stand, and she was about to reply with some acrimony, when her husband put his hand upon her lips and hurried her away.

On the landing they met Mrs. Steadman, a stout, commonplace person, who always had the same half-frightened look, as of one who lived in the shadow of an abiding terror, obviously cowed and brow beaten by her husband, according to the Fellside household.

At sight of Lord Hartfield and his wife she looked a little more frightened than usual.

‘Goodness gracious, Lady Mary! how ever did you come here?’ she gasped, not yet having quite realised the fact that Mary had been promoted.

‘We came to please Steadman’s uncle—­he brought us in here,’ Mary answered, quietly.

‘But where did you find him?’

‘In the corridor—­just by her ladyship’s room.’

’Then he must have taken the key out of Steadman’s pocket, or Steadman must have left it about somewhere,’ muttered Mrs. Steadman, as if explaining the matter to herself, rather than to Mary.  ’My poor husband is not the man he was.  And so you met him in the corridor, and he brought you in here.  Poor old gentleman!  He gets madder and madder every day.’

‘There is method in his madness,’ said Lord Hartfield.  ’He talked very much like sanity just now.  Has your husband had the charge of him long?’

Mrs. Steadman answered somewhat confusedly.

’A goodish time, sir.  I can’t quite exactly say—­time passes so quiet in a place like this.  One hardly keeps count of the years.’

‘Forty years, perhaps?’

Mrs. Steadman blenched under Lord Hartfield’s steadfast look—­a look which questioned more searchingly than his words.

‘Forty years,’ she repeated, with a faint laugh.  ’Oh, dear no, sir, not a quarter as long.  It isn’t so many years, after all, since Steadman’s poor old uncle went a little queer in his head; and Steadman, having such a quiet home here, and plenty of spare room, made bold to ask her ladyship if he might give the poor old man a home, where he would be in nobody’s way.’

‘And the poor old man seems to have a very luxurious home,’ answered Lord Hartfield.  ’Pray when and where did Mr. Steadman’s uncle learn to smoke a hookah?’

Simple as the question was, it proved too much for Mrs. Steadman.  She only shook her head, and faltered some unintelligible reply.

‘Where is your husband?’ asked Lord Hartfield:  ’I should like to have a little talk with him, if he is disengaged.’

‘He is not very well, my lord,’ answered Mrs. Steadman.  ’He has been ailing off and on for the last six months, but I couldn’t get him to see the doctor, or to tell her ladyship that he was in bad health.  And about a week ago he broke down altogether, and fell into a kind of drowsy state.  He keeps about, and he does his work pretty much the same as usual, but I can see that it’s too much for him.  If you like to come downstairs I can let you through the lower door into the hall; and if he should have woke up since I have left him he’ll be at your lordship’s service.  But I’d rather not wake him out of his sleep.’