'Claire, really!' said his goaded lordship, protestingly. 'How on
earth? I only met the man on the links.'

'But you were very nice to him. You told me yourself that you
spent hours helping him to get rid of his slice, whatever that
is.'

'We happened to be the only two down there at the time, so I was
as civil as I could manage. If you're marooned at a Cornish
seaside resort out of the season with a man, you can't spend your
time dodging him. And this man had a slice that fascinated me. I
felt at the time that it was my mission in life to cure him, so I
had a dash at it. But I don't see how on the strength of that I
could expect the old boy to adopt me. He probably forgot my
existence after I had left.'

'You said you met him in London a month or two afterwards, and he
hadn't forgotten you.'

'Well, yes, that's true. He was walking up the Haymarket and I was
walking down. I caught his eye, and he nodded and passed on. I
don't see how I could construe that into an invitation to go and
sit on his lap and help myself out of his pockets.'

'You couldn't expect him to go out of his way to help you; but
probably if you had gone to him he would have done something.'

'You haven't the pleasure of Mr Ira Nutcombe's acquaintance,
Claire, or you wouldn't talk like that. He wasn't the sort of man
you could get things out of. He didn't even tip the caddie.