“I shouldn't be in the least surprised to hear that he was,” Philippa said drily. “I have told you that he came and asked about you the other night, when he dined here. He seemed perfectly satisfied then, but he is here again to-night to see Henry, and he never visits anywhere in an ordinary way.” “Are you uneasy about me?” Lessingham enquired. “I am not sure,” she answered frankly. “Sometimes I am almost terrified and would give anything to hear that you were on your way home. And at other times I realise that you are really very clever, that nothing is likely to happen to you, and that the place will seem duller than ever when you do go.” “That is very kind of you,” he said. “In any case, I fear that my holiday will soon be coming to an end.” “Your holiday?” she repeated. “Is that what you call it?” “It has been little else,” he replied indifferently. “There is nothing to be learnt here of the slightest military significance.” “We told you that when you arrived,” Philippa reminded him. “I was perhaps foolish not to believe you,” he acknowledged. “So your very exciting journey through the clouds has ended in failure, after all!” she went on, a moment or two later. “Failure? No, I should not call it failure.” “You have really made some discoveries, then?” she enquired dubiously. “I have made the greatest discovery in the world.” Her eyebrows were gently raised, the corners of her mouth quivered, her eyes fell. “Dear me! In this quiet spot?” she sighed. “Yes!” “Is it Helen or me?” “Philippa!” he protested. Her eyebrows were more raised than ever. Her mouth had lost its alluring curve. “Really, Mr. Lessingham!” she exclaimed. “Have I ever given you the right to call me by my Christian name?” “In my country,” he answered, “we do not wait to ask. We take.” “Rank Prussianism,” she murmured. “I really think you had better go back there. You are adopting their methods.” “I may have to at any moment,” he admitted, “or to some more distant country still. I want something to take back with me.” “You want a keepsake, of course,” Philippa declared, looking around the room. “You can have my photograph--the one over there. Helen will give you one of hers, too, I am sure, if you ask her. She is just as grateful to you about Richard as I am.” “But from you,” he said earnestly, “I want more than gratitude.” “Dear me, how persistent you are!” Philippa murmured. “Are you really determined to make love to me?” “Ah, don't mock me!” he begged. “What I am saying to you comes from my heart.” Philippa laughed at him quietly. There was just a little break in her voice, however. “Don't be absurd!”