She looked quite a girl this morning in her simple muslin frock, with a broad blue sash round her slim waist, and the dainty cross-over fichu into which, at her bosom, she had fastened a few late crimson roses.
She crossed the landing outside her own suite of apartments, and stood still for a moment at the head of the fine oak staircase, which led to the lower floor.

On her left were her husband's apartments, a suite of rooms which she practically never entered.
They consisted of bedroom, dressing and reception room, and at the extreme end of the landing, of a small study, which, when Sir Percy did not use it, was always kept locked.

His own special and confidential valet, Frank, had charge of this room.

No one was ever allowed to go inside.

My lady had never cared to do so, and the other servants, had, of course, not dared to break this hard-and-fast rule.
Marguerite had often, with that good-natured contempt which she had recently adopted towards her husband, chaffed him about this secrecy which surrounded his private study.