He shook his head.
"No such luck!" he answered. "Mine is entirely a bachelor establishment. A great part of the time I am alone. Just now I have a pal staying with me—awfully decent chap, from Devonshire."
She was certainly silent for a moment. He fancied too that there was a change in her face.
"From Devonshire!" she repeated, with a carelessness which, if it was not natural, was exceedingly well assumed. "I believe I knew some people once who came from there. What is your friend's name, Sir George?"
He turned slowly towards her.
"Andrew Pelham!" he said quietly. "He comes from a place called Raynesworth."
"He is staying here now—with you?"
"Yes," he answered gravely.
It was not his fancy this time. Of that he felt sure. Her face for the moment had been the color of chalk—a little exclamation had been strangled upon her lips. She shot a quick glance at him. He met it steadily.
"You know the name?" he asked.