"But it does. Unless there's something you don't want me to hear."
"Not at all. Where was I? Oh, yes, 'call but the Duchess of Dare! She has let her house to some friends, and has come away from London for a fortnight's rest. It was rather queer of her calling, wasn't it? She was less embarrassed than you would imagine and actually had the effrontery to mention Hortense.'"
"Who is Hortense?" asked Bobby, all curiosity.
"Her daughter."
"Well, why shouldn't her mother mention her?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Percival, in deep water; "rather bad form, perhaps."
"For a mother to mention her own child?" Then the light dawned. "Perhaps she is the one you were telling me about."
Percival hastily folded the letter and slipped it into its emblazoned envelop.
"Is she?" persisted Bobby.
"Is she what?"