The Mysterious Three

“Do you know a Mr Smithson, Gwen?” Sir Charles Thorold asked his wife abruptly as he stood astride before the big fire in the hall.
“Smithson?” Lady Thorold answered as she poured out the tea. “No. Who is he?”
“I have no idea. Never heard of him.”
Then, addressing the butler, Sir Charles asked anxiously—
“Did he leave a card, James?”
“No, Sir Charles. He asked to see you—or her ladyship.”
“Or me?” Lady Thorold exclaimed. “Why, how very mysterious. What was he like?”
“A tall, powerfully-built man, m’lady.”
“A gentleman?”
“M’yes, m’lady. He came in a car.”
As James said this in his grave, solemn way, I saw Vera Thorold’s eyes twinkle with amusement. For Sir Charles’s only child possessed that gift rare in a woman—a sense of humour.