“About Mr. Hamar Lessingham,” she repeated. “Rather a limited subject, I am afraid.”
“I am not so sure,” he said thoughtfully. “For instance, who is he?”
“I have no idea,” she replied. “Does it matter? He was at college with Richard, and he has been a visitor at Wood Norton. That is all that we know. Surely it is sufficient for us to offer him any reasonable hospitality?”
“I am not disputing it,” Sir Henry assured her. “On the face of it, it seems perfectly reasonable that you should be civil to him. On the other hand, there are one or two rather curious points about his coming here just now.”
“Really?” Philippa murmured indifferently, bending a little lower over her work.
“In the first place,” her husband continued, “how did he arrive here?”
“For all I know,” she replied, “he may have walked.”
“A little unlikely. Still, he didn't come from London by either of the evening trains, and it seems that you didn't take his rooms for him until about seven o'clock, before which time he hadn't been to the hotel. So, you see, one is driven to wonder how the mischief he did get here.”
“I took his rooms?” Philippa repeated, with a sudden little catch at her heart.
“Some one from here rang up, didn't they?” Sir Henry went on carelessly. “I gathered that we were introducing him at the hotel.”