"He can't
do any particular harm down there, and there isn't a line or a
drawing of mine down at Dreymarsh which he isn't welcome to."
Lord Rayton rose to his feet.
"Look here, Henry, old fellow," he said, "I do sympathise with you
up to a certain point. I tell you what I'll do. I shall have to
answer Philippa's letter, and I'll answer it in such a way that if
she is as clever a little woman as I think she is, she'll get a hint.
Of course," he went on ruminatively, "it is rather a misfortune that
the Princess Ollaneff and her sister are such jolly good-looking
women. Makes it look a little fishy, doesn't it? What I mean to
say is, it's a far cry from fishing for whiting in the North Sea to
lunching with a beautiful princess at the Carlton--when you think
your wife's down in Norfolk."
Sir Henry threw open the door.
"Look here, I've had enough of you, Rayton," he declared. "You get
back and do an hour's work, if you can bring your mind to it."
The latter assumed a sudden dignity, necessitated by the sound of
voices in the corridor, and departed. The door had scarcely been
closed when two younger men presented themselves--Miles Ensol, Sir
Henry's secretary, a typical-looking young sailor minus his left
arm; and a pale-faced, clean-shaven man of uncertain age, in civilian
clothes. Sir Henry shook hands with the latter and pointed to the
easy-chair which his previous visitor had just vacated.
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