When the housekeeper came—
“Mrs. Locke,” said Richard, “I want to see the room that used to be the nursery—in the older time, I mean.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Mrs. Locke pleasantly, and led them up two flights of stairs and along corridor and passage to the room Richard had before occupied. He glanced round it, and said,
“This shall be my room. Will you kindly get it ready for me.”
She hesitated. It had certainly not been repapered, as sir Wilton thought, and had said to Mrs. Tuke! To Mrs. Locke it seemed uninhabitable by a gentleman.
“I will send for the painter and paper-hanger at once,” she replied, “but it will take more than a week to get ready.”
“Pray leave it as it is,” he answered. “—You can have the floor swept of course,” he added with a smile, seeing her look of dismay. “I will sleep here to-night, and we can settle afterward what is to be done to it.—There used to be a portrait,” he went on, “—over the chimney-piece, the portrait of a lady—not well painted, I fancy, but I liked it: what has become of it?”
Then first it began to dawn on Mrs. Locke that the young man who mended the books and the heir to Mortgrange were the same person.
“It fell down one day, and has not been put up agin,” she answered.
“Do you know where it is?”