Philippa moved a few steps towards the other door.  In a moment it was thrown open.  Nora appeared, with her arm through her father’s.

“I went to meet him, Mummy,” she explained.  “No uniform—­isn’t it a shame!”

Sir Henry patted her cheek and turned to greet his wife.  There was a shadow upon his bronzed, handsome face as he watched her rather hesitating approach.

“Sorry I couldn’t catch your train, Phil,” he told her.  “I had to make a call in the city so I came down from Liverpool Street.  Any luck?”

She held his hands, resisting for the moment his proffered embrace.

“Henry,” she said earnestly, “do you know I am so much more anxious to hear your news.”

“Mine will keep,” he replied.  “What about Richard?”

She shook her head.

“I spent the whole of my time making enquiries,” she sighed, “and every one was fruitless.  I failed to get the least satisfaction from any one at the War Office.  They know nothing, have heard nothing.”

“I’m ever so sorry to hear it,” Sir Henry declared sympathetically.  “You mustn’t worry too much, though, dear.  Where’s Helen?”

“She is in the gun room with a caller.”

“With a caller?” Nora exclaimed.  “Is it any one from the Depot?  I must go and see.”

“You needn’t trouble,” her stepmother replied.  “Here they are, coming in.”

The door on the opposite side of the room was suddenly opened, and Hamar Lessingham and Helen entered together.  Lessingham was entirely at his ease,—­their conversation, indeed, seemed almost engrossing.  He came at once across the room on realising Sir Henry’s presence.

“This is Mr. Hamar Lessingham—­my husband,” Philippa said.  “Mr. Lessingham was at college with Dick, Henry, so of course Helen and he have been indulging in all sorts of reminiscences.”

The two men shook hands.

“I found time also to examine your Leech prints,” Lessingham remarked.  “You have some very admirable examples.”

“Quite a hobby of mine in my younger days,” Sir Henry admitted.  “One or two of them are very good, I believe.  Are you staying in these parts long, Mr. Lessingham?”

“Perhaps for a week or two,” was the somewhat indifferent reply.  “I am told that this is the most wonderful air in the world, so I have come down here to pull up again after a slight illness.”

“A dreary spot just now,” Sir Henry observed, “but the air’s all right.  Are you a sea-fisherman, by any chance, Mr. Lessingham?”

“I have done a little of it,” the visitor confessed.  Sir Henry’s face lit up.  He drew from his pocket a small, brown paper parcel.