My Lady Bountiful by Fred M. White

The Foreign Secretary scented comedy. He had a deal of humour for a mere Minister, a blessed gift that rendered even the House of Commons entertaining. There seemed to be all the elements of high comedy here. The shade of Sheridan would have revelled in it.

Out in the hall, under the very shadow of the decorous clock, the clear, rich whistling went on. Mrs. Eldred-Wolfram turned a cold, critical eye on Cedric as if he was responsible for the outrage. The butler shook his head with the air of a man who finds a chastened resignation in the decrees of Providence.