The young man came in.
"Ah, Simon, my dear boy," Mr. Sandal said, shaking hands with him, "I am delighted to see you. Are you up on business, or are you just — "
His voice died away uncertainly, and he stared, the gesture of his arm towards a chair arrested mid-way.
"God bless my soul," he said, "you are not Simon."
"No. I am not Simon."
"But-but you are an Ashby."
"If you think that, it makes things a whole lot easier for me."
"Yes? Do forgive me if I am a little confused. I didn't know that there were Ashby cousins."
"There aren't, as far as I know."
"No? Then-forgive me-which Ashby are you?"