Reggie was sitting by the open window after a particularly late breakfast, smoking into the window box. His back was turned to the room, and he was apparently absorbed in his occupation. He had read Gertrude's letter as he was having breakfast, and when he had finished, he had given it to his mother, saying—
"Such a jolly note from Gerty; you will like to see it, mummy."
Mrs. Davenport read it and looked up with some impatience at the lounging figure in the window seat.
"What's this about Gerty's photograph and Lady Hayes?" she asked. "I don't understand."
Reggie did not appear to hear, and continued persecuting a small, green fly that was airing itself on a red geranium, and was consequently conspicuous.
"You may smoke in here, Reggie," said Mrs. Davenport, raising her voice a little; "come in and sit down."
Reggie turned round somewhat unwillingly. He had heard his mother's first question, and it had suddenly struck him that it was rather an awkward one. A very frank nature will, on occasions, use extreme frankness to cover the deficiency of it, and he decided that the whole truth, very openly stated, was less liable to involve him in difficulties than the subtlest prevarication.
"Oh, Lady Hayes said she wanted Gerty's photograph and mine," he said, walking towards his mother. "Of course, I gave them her, and she gave me hers in exchange. I told Gerty all about it in a letter."
Mrs. Davenport looked up at him, and observed that his face was flushed.
"What an odd request," she said.