Lessingham was wearing one exactly like it."

"It isn't exactly an uncommon pattern," Philippa reminded him.

"Seems to have the family taste in clothes," Sir Henry continued,
stroking his chin. "That grey tweed suit of his was exactly the
same pattern as the suit Richard was wearing, the last time I saw
him in mufti."

"They probably go to the same tailor," Philippa remarked equably.

Sir Henry abandoned the subject. He was once more engrossed in an
examination of the mackerel spinners.

"You didn't answer my question about Jimmy Dumble," he ventured
presently.

Philippa turned and looked at him. Her eyes were usually very
sweet and soft and her mouth delightful. Just at that moment,
however, there were new and very firm lines in her face.

"Henry," she said sternly, "you are purposely fencing with me.
Mr. Lessingham's taste in clothes, or Jimmy Dumble's comings and
goings, are not what I want to hear or talk about. You went to
London, unwillingly enough, to keep your promise to me. I want to
know whether you have succeeded in getting anything from the
Admiralty?"

"Nothing but the cold shoulder, my dear," he answered with a little
chuckle.