"None," she said. "My husband seldom writes."
Sir Leslie smiled reflectively, and glanced towards the pile of papers at his side.
"Perhaps," she remarked, "you know better than I do how things are going there."
He shook his head.
"I have no correspondents in Leeds," he answered.
At that moment a puff of wind disturbed the papers by his side. A telegram would have fluttered away, but Blanche Mannering caught it at the edge of the table. She was handing it back, when a curious expression on Borrowdean's face inspired her with a sudden idea. She deliberately looked at the telegram, and her fingers stiffened upon it. His forward movement was checked. She stood just out of his reach.
"No correspondents in Leeds," she repeated. "Then what about this telegram?"
"You will permit me to remind you," he said, stretching out his hand for it, "that it is addressed to me."
Her hands were behind her. She leaned over towards him.
"It can be addressed to you a thousand times over," she answered, "but before I part with it I want to know what it means."