The Zeppelin's PassengerOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
General
The Zeppelin's Passenger
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Historical fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
“I could tell you more easily,” he answered in a low tone, “why it will
be the most miserable day of my life when I leave.”
She laughed at him with perfect heartiness.
“How delightful to be flirted with again!” she sighed. “And I thought
all German men were so heavy, and paid elaborate, underdone compliments.
Still, your secret, sir, please? That is what I want to know.”
“If you will have just a little patience!” he begged, leaning so close
to her that their heads almost touched, “I promise that I will not leave
this place before I tell it to you.”
Philippa's eyes for the first time dropped before his. She knew
perfectly well what she ought to have done and she was singularly
indisposed to do it. It was a most piquant adventure, after all, and
it almost helped her to forget the trouble which had been sitting so
heavily in her heart. Still avoiding his eyes, she called the others.
“We are quite ready for bridge,” she announced.
They played four or five rubbers. Lessingham was by far the most expert
player, and he and Philippa in the end were the winners. The two men
stood together for a moment or two at the sideboard, helping themselves
to whisky and soda. Griffiths had become more taciturn than ever, and
even Philippa was forced to admit that the latter part of the evening
had scarcely been a success.
“Do you play club bridge in town, Mr. Lessingham?” Griffiths asked.
“Never,” was the calm reply.
“You are head and shoulders above our class down here.”
“Very good of you to say so,” Lessingham replied courteously. “I held
good cards to-night.”
“I wonder,” Griffiths went on, dropping his voice a little and keeping
his eyes fixed upon his companion, “what the German substitute for
bridge is.”
“I wonder,” Lessingham echoed.
“As a nation,” his questioner proceeded, “they probably don't waste as
much time on cards as we do.”
Lessingham's interest in the subject appeared to be non-existent. He
strolled away from the sideboard towards Philippa. She, for her part,
was watching Captain Griffiths.
“So many thanks, Lady Cranston,” Lessingham murmured, “for your
hospitality.”
“And what about that secret?” she asked.
“You see, there are two,” he answered, looking down at her. “One I shall
most surely tell you before I leave here, because it is the one secret
which no man has ever succeeded in keeping to himself. As for the
other--”
He hesitated. There was something almost like pain in his face. She
broke in hastily.
“I did not call you away to ask about either. I happened to notice
Captain Griffiths just now. Do you know that he is watching you very
closely?”
“I had an idea of it,” Lessingham admitted indifferently. “He is rather
a clumsy person, is he not?”
“You will be careful?” she begged earnestly. “Remember, won't you, that
Helen and I are really in a most disgraceful position if anything should
come out.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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