You can contemplate your beauty at another time." "Pardon! It was your Ladyship's beauty." "That," says my Lady, "you needn't contemplate at all." At length, one afternoon a little before sunset, when the bright groups of figures which have for the last hour or two enlivened the Ghost's Walk are all dispersed and only Sir Leicester and my Lady remain upon the terrace, Mr.Tulkinghorn appears.

He comes towards them at his usual methodical pace, which is never quickened, never slackened.

He wears his usual expressionless mask--if it be a mask--and carries family secrets in every limb of his body and every crease of his dress.

Whether his whole soul is devoted to the great or whether he yields them nothing beyond the services he sells is his personal secret.

He keeps it, as he keeps the secrets of his clients; he is his own client in that matter, and will never betray himself.
"How do you do, Mr.Tulkinghorn ?" says Sir Leicester, giving him his hand.
Mr.Tulkinghorn is quite well.