“Yes,” I answered, smiling. He was very cleverly trying to impress upon me the fact that they had never met. His shrewd cunning showed itself in the sidelong glance he gave me.
At that moment the door suddenly opened, and Lord Stanchester, in his rough shooting kit, came in.
“Halloa, Smeeton! Welcome, my dear fellow!” he cried, wringing his guest’s hands. “Excuse my being away, won’t you? I’ve got a lot of people here, you know, and had to go out with them. By Jove! When you said good-bye to me and left the boat at Zanzibar, I never expected to see you again?”
“Well, here I am—turned up in England again, you see!” he replied merrily. “When we parted I had no intention of coming back. But somehow, on occasions, a longing for home comes over me, and I’m drawn back to London irresistibly. I see,” he added, “some of the trophies are up in the hall.”
“Yes,” laughed his lordship. “I had them all mounted. And often when I look at them, they bring back pleasant recollections of those many weeks we were together. Well,” he added, “I’m very pleased, Smeeton, to see you here at Sibberton—very. My wife knows you’re here; she’ll be delighted to meet you. I’m sure. I’ve often spoken of you, and told her how you saved me from that lioness. By Jove! I was within an ace of being done—and should have been if you hadn’t been such a dead shot.”
“Oh, that’s enough,” laughed the guest, modestly. “I can’t shoot partridges—that you’ll see.”
The Earl walked to the mantelshelf, took a cigarette, and lit it, saying—
“I see Woodhouse has been making you at home. This is Willoughby Woodhouse, my friend as well as my secretary,” he exclaimed. “I spoke of him, I believe.”
“You did, on several occasions,” and turning, Smeeton added, “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Woodhouse. His lordship said all sorts of kind things about you.”
But I scarcely heeded the newcomer’s remarks. I was wondering what would occur when he met her ladyship face to face.