"Yes. Both of them. I dine there about once a-week, just myself and Desmond's inseparable pal, Wyndham, who is over there most days. You must call at once. She is Colonel Meredith's sister, a magnificent woman in every way."
"A miraculous one, I should say, to have dragged such an adjective out of you!"
Lenox smiled. "No. Only one of the right sort. The sort that makes fine sons. She has one already; splendid little chap. The three of 'em are off to Dalhousie early in May, and they have just persuaded me to spend my two months there instead of beyond Kashmir. Mrs Desmond has a misguided notion that I am knocking myself to bits over my work in the interior."
"Deuced sensible woman!" laughed Richardson. "It'll give me the greatest pleasure in life to shake hands with her."
"Come and do it to-morrow then. I'll go along with you."
While he talked Lenox had filled a long German pipe with a bowl of generous dimensions. Now he set a match to it, and as the first blue clouds curled upward a peculiarly aromatic fragrance filled the room.
"That stuff of yours is A1," Richardson remarked, with an appreciative sniff. "Pretty costly, I suppose?"
"Yes. My one extravagance. A special brand that I get out from home, a big batch at a time. Nothing like it for settling a man's nerves in the small hours."
"Do you still sit up over that sort of thing till the small hours?"
"Yes, most nights. What moonshine are you bothering your head about now?"