"Very well, then," her husband agreed, "let us select another topic.
This time, supposing I choose?"
"You are welcome."
"Let us converse, then, about Mr. Hamar Lessingham."
Philippa had taken up her work. Her fingers ceased their labours,
but she did not look up.
"About Mr. Hamar Lessingham," she repeated. "Rather a limited
subject, I am afraid."
"I am not so sure," he said thoughtfully. "For instance, who is he?"
"I have no idea," she replied. "Does it matter? He was at college
with Richard, and he has been a visitor at Wood Norton. That is all
that we know. Surely it is sufficient for us to offer him any
reasonable hospitality?"
"I am not disputing it," Sir Henry assured her. "On the face of it,
it seems perfectly reasonable that you should be civil to him. On
the other hand, there are one or two rather curious points about his
coming here just now."
"Really?" Philippa murmured indifferently, bending a little lower
over her work.
"In the first place," her husband continued, "how did he arrive here?"
"For all I know," she replied, "he may have walked."
"A little unlikely. Still, he didn't come from London by either of
the evening trains, and it seems that you didn't take his rooms for
him until about seven o'clock, before which time he hadn't been to
the hotel. So, you see, one is driven to wonder how the mischief
he did get here.
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