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“Step forward, my man,” said the General. The groom advanced from the door, bowed, and stopped at the foot of the table–my uncle sitting at the head, with my aunt and myself on either side of him. The inevitable questions began.

“What is your name?”

“Michael Bloomfield.”

“Your age?”

“Twenty-six.”

My aunt’s want of interest in the proceedings expressed itself by a little weary sigh. She leaned back resignedly in her chair.

The General went on with his questions: “What experience have you had as a groom?”

“I began learning my work, sir, before I was twelve years old.”

“Yes! yes! I mean what private families have you served in?”

“Two, sir.”

“How long have you been in your two situations?”

“Four years in the first; and three in the second.”

The General looked agreeably surprised. “Seven years in only two situations is a good character in itself,” he remarked. “Who are your references?”

The groom laid two papers on the table.

“I don’t take written references,” said the General.

“Be pleased to read my papers, sir,” answered the groom.

My uncle looked sharply across the table. The groom sustained the look with respectful but unshaken composure. The General took up the papers, and seemed to be once more favorably impressed as he read them. “Personal references in each case if required in support of strong written recommendations from both his employers,” he informed my aunt. “Copy the addresses, Mina. Very satisfactory, I must say. Don’t you think so yourself?” he resumed, turning again to my aunt.

Lady Claudia replied by a courteous bend of her head. The General went on with his questions. They related to the management of horses; and they were answered to his complete satisfaction.

“Michael Bloomfield, you know your business,” he said, “and you have a good character. Leave your address. When I have consulted your references, you shall hear from me.”

The groom took out a blank card, and wrote his name and address on it. I looked over my uncle’s shoulder when he received the card. Another surprise! The handwriting was simply irreproachable–the lines running perfectly straight, and every letter completely formed. As this perplexing person made his modest bow, and withdrew, the General, struck by an after-thought, called him back from the door.

“One thing more,” said my uncle. “About friends and followers? I consider it my duty to my servants to allow them to see their relations; but I expect them to submit to certain conditions in return–“

“I beg your pardon, sir,” the groom interposed. “I shall not give you any trouble on that score. I have no relations.”

“No brothers or sisters?” asked the General.

“None, sir.”

“Father and mother both dead?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“You don’t know! What does that mean?”

“I am telling you the plain truth, sir. I never heard who my father and mother were–and I don’t expect to hear now.”

He said those words with a bitter composure which impressed me painfully. Lady Claudia was far from feeling it as I did. Her languid interest in the engagement of the groom seemed to be completely exhausted–and that was all. She rose, in her easy graceful way, and looked out of the window at the courtyard and fountain, the house-dog in his kennel, and the box of flowers in the coachman’s window.

In the meanwhile, the groom remained near the table, respectfully waiting for his dismissal. The General spoke to him sharply, for the first time. I could see that my good uncle had noticed the cruel tone of that passing reference to the parents, and thought of it as I did.

“One word more, before you go,” he said. “If I don’t find you more mercifully inclined toward my horses than you seem to be toward your father and mother, you won’t remain long in my service. You might have told me you had never heard who your parents were, without speaking as if you didn’t care to hear.”

“May I say a bold word, sir, in my own defense?”

He put the question very quietly, but, at the same time, so firmly that he even surprised my aunt. She looked round from the window–then turned back again, and stretched out her hand toward the curtain, intending, as I supposed, to alter the arrangement of it. The groom went on.