“You had every warning,” she told him. “I tried to make you understand exactly how your behaviour disgusted me before you went away.” “Yes, I remember,” he admitted. “I'm afraid, dear, you think I am a worthless sort of a fellow.” Philippa had apparently dropped a stitch. She bent lower still over her knitting. There was a distinct frown upon her forehead, her mouth was unrecognisable. “Your friend Lessingham is here still, I understand?” her husband remarked presently. “Yes,” Philippa assented, “he is dining to-night. You will probably see him in a few minutes.” Sir Henry looked thoughtful, and studied for a moment the toe of a remarkably unprepossessing looking shoe. “You're so keen about that sort of thing,” he said, “what about Lessingham? He is not soldiering or anything, is he?” “I have no idea,” Philippa replied. “He walks with a slight limp and admits that he is here as a convalescent, but he hasn't told us very much about himself.” “I wonder you haven't tackled him,” Sir Henry continued. “You're such an ardent recruiter, you ought to make sure that he is doing his bit of butchery.” Philippa looked up at her husband for a moment and back at her work. “Mr. Lessingham,” she said, “is a very delightful friend, whose stay here every one is enjoying very much, but he is a comparative stranger. I feel no responsibility as to his actions.” “And you do as to mine?” “Naturally.” Sir Henry's head was resting on his hand, his elbow on the back of the lounge. He seemed to be listening to the voices in the dining room beyond. “Hm!” he observed. “Has he been here often while I've been away?” “As often as he chose,” Philippa replied. “He has become very popular in the neighbourhood already, and he is an exceedingly welcome guest here at any time.” “Takes advantage of your hospitality pretty often, doesn't he?” “He is here most days. We are always rather disappointed when he doesn't come.” Sir Henry's frown grew a little deeper. “What's the attraction?” he demanded. Philippa smiled. It was the smile which those who knew her best, feared. “Well,” she confided, “I used to imagine that it was Helen, but I think that he has become a little bored, talking about nothing but Dick and their college days. I am rather inclined to fancy that it must be me.” “You, indeed!” he grunted. “Are you aware that you are a married woman?” Philippa glanced up from her work. Her eyebrows were raised, and her expression was one of mild surprise. “How queer that you should remind me of it!” she murmured. “I am afraid that the sea air disturbs your memory.” Sir Henry rose abruptly to his feet. “Oh, damn!” he exclaimed. He walked to the door. His guests were still lingering over their wine. He could hear their voices more distinctly than ever. Then he came back to the sofa and stood by Philippa's side.