She made no reply, and they entered the house together. They found Helen and Nora, with three or four young men from the Depot, having tea in the drawing-room. Lessingham slipped very easily into the pleasant little circle. If a trifle subdued, his quiet manners, and a sense of humour which every now and then displayed itself, were most attractive. “Wish you'd come and dine with us and meet our colonel, sir,” Harrison asked him. “He was at Magdalen a few years after Major Felstead, and I am sure you'd find plenty to talk about.” “I am quite sure that we should,” Lessingham replied. “May I come, perhaps, towards the end of next week? I am making most strenuous efforts to lead an absolutely quiet life here.” “Whenever you like, sir. We sha'n't be able to show you anything very wild in the way of dissipation. Vintage port and a decent cigar are the only changes we can make for guests.” Philippa drew her visitor on one side presently, and made him sit with her in a distant corner of the room. “I knew there was something I wanted to say to you,” she began, “but somehow or other I forgot when I met you. My husband was very much struck with Helen's improved spirits. Don't you think that we had better tell him, when he returns, that we had heard from Major Felstead?” Lessingham agreed. “Just let him think that your letters came by post in the ordinary way,” he advised. “I shouldn't imagine, from what I have seen of your husband, that he is a suspicious person, but it is just possible that he might have associated them with me if you had mentioned them the other night. When is he coming back?” “I never know,” Philippa answered with a sigh. “Perhaps to-night, perhaps in a week. It depends upon what sport he is having. You are not smoking.” Lessingham lit a cigarette. “I find your husband,” he said quietly, “rather an interesting type. We have no one like that in Germany. He almost puzzles me.” Philippa glanced up to find her companion's dark eyes fixed upon her. “There is very little about Henry that need puzzle any one,” she complained bitterly. “He is just an overgrown, spoilt child, devoted to amusements, and following his fancy wherever it leads him. Why do you look at me, Mr. Lessingham, as though you thought I was keeping something back? I am not, I can assure you.” “Perhaps I was wondering,” he confessed, “how you really felt towards a husband whose outlook was so unnatural.” She looked down at her intertwined fingers. “Do you know,” she said softly, “I feel, somehow or other, although we have known one another such a short time, as though we were friends, and yet that is a question which I could not answer. A woman must always have some secrets, you know.” “A man may try sometimes to preserve his,” he sighed, “but a woman is clever enough, as a rule, to dig them out.” A faint tinge of colour stole into her cheeks. She welcomed Helen's approach almost eagerly.