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Page 20
Philippa raised her eyebrows.
"Mackerel!" she repeated sarcastically.
"Have you any objection to the fish, dear?" Sir Henry enquired
blandly.
Philippa made no reply. Her husband frowned and turned towards
Lessingham.
"You see," he complained a little irritably, "my wife doesn't approve
of my taking an interest even in fishing while the war's on, but,
hang it all, what are you to do when you reach my age? Thinks I
ought to be a special constable, don't you, Philippa?"
"Need we discuss this before Mr. Lessingham?" she asked, without
looking up from her paper.
Lessingham promptly prepared to take his departure.
"See something more of you, I hope," Sir Henry remarked hospitably,
as he conducted his guest to the door. "Where are you staying
here?"
"At the hotel."
"Which?"
"I did not understand that there was more than one," Lessingham
replied. "I simply wrote to The Hotel, Dreymarsh."
"There is only one hotel open, of course, Mr. Lessingham," Philippa
observed, turning towards him. "Why do you ask such an absurd
question, Henry? The 'Grand' is full of soldiers. Come and see
us whenever you feel inclined, Mr. Lessingham."
"I shall certainly take advantage of your permission, Lady Cranston,"
were the farewell words of this unusual visitor as he bowed himself
out.
Sir Henry moved to the sideboard and helped himself to a whisky and
soda. Philippa laid down her newspaper and watched him as though
waiting patiently for his return. Helen and Nora had already
obeyed the summons of the dressing bell.
"Henry, I want to hear your news," she insisted. He threw himself
into an easy-chair and turned over the contents of Philippa's
workbasket.
"Where's that tie of mine you were mending?" he asked. "Is it
finished yet?"
"It is upstairs somewhere," she replied. "No, I have not finished
it. Why do you ask? You have plenty, haven't you?"
"Drawers full," he admitted cheerfully. "Half of them I can never
wear, though. I like that black and white fellow. Your friend
Lessingham was wearing one exactly like it."
"It isn't exactly an uncommon pattern," Philippa reminded him.
"Seems to have the family taste in clothes," Sir Henry continued,
stroking his chin. "That grey tweed suit of his was exactly the
same pattern as the suit Richard was wearing, the last time I saw
him in mufti."
"They probably go to the same tailor," Philippa remarked equably.
Sir Henry abandoned the subject. He was once more engrossed in an
examination of the mackerel spinners.
"You didn't answer my question about Jimmy Dumble," he ventured
presently.
Philippa turned and looked at him. Her eyes were usually very
sweet and soft and her mouth delightful. Just at that moment,
however, there were new and very firm lines in her face.
"Henry," she said sternly, "you are purposely fencing with me.
Mr. Lessingham's taste in clothes, or Jimmy Dumble's comings and
goings, are not what I want to hear or talk about. You went to
London, unwillingly enough, to keep your promise to me. I want to
know whether you have succeeded in getting anything from the
Admiralty?"
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