Philippa's flashes of seriousness were only momentary. She made a little grimace. She was once more her natural, irresponsible self. “You underrate my charm, Helen,” she declared. “I really believe that I could make his life instead of spoiling it.” “And you would pay the price?” Philippa, slim and elflike in the firelight, rose from her chair. There was a momentary cruelty in her face. “I sometimes think,” she said calmly, “that I would pay any price in the world to make Henry understand how I feel. There, now run along, dear. You're full of good intentions, and don't think it horrid of me, but nothing that you could say would make any difference.” “You wouldn't do anything rash?” Helen pleaded. “Well, if I run away with Mr. Lessingham, I certainly can't promise that I'll send cards out first. Whatever I do, impulse will probably decide.” “Impulse!” “Why not? I trust mine. Can't you?” Philippa added, with a little shrug of the shoulders. “Sometimes,” Helen sighed, “they are such wild horses, you know. They lead one to such terrible places.” “And sometimes,” Philippa replied, “they find their way into the heaven where our soberer thoughts could never take us. Good night, dear!” CHAPTER XVI Mr. William Hayter, in the solitude of his chambers at the Milan Court, was a very altered personage. He extended no welcoming salutation to his midnight visitor but simply motioned him to a chair. “Well,” he began, “is your task finished that you are in London?” “My task,” Lessingham replied, “might just as well never have been entered upon. The man you sent me to watch is nothing but an ordinary sport-loving Englishman.” “Really! You have lived as his neighbour for nearly a month, and that is your impression of him?” “It is,” Lessingham assented. “He has been away sea-fishing, half the time, but I have searched his house thoroughly.” “Searched his papers, eh?” “Every one I could find, and hated the job. There are a good many charts of the coast, but they are all for the use of the fishermen.” “Wonderful!” Hayter scoffed. “My young friend, you may yet find distinction in some other walk of life. Our secret service, I fancy, will very soon be able to dispense with your energies.” “And I with your secret service,” Lessingham agreed heartily. “I dare say there may be some branches of it in which existence is tolerable. That, however, does not apply to the task upon which I have been engaged.” “You have been completely duped,” Hayter told him calmly, “and the information you have sent us is valueless. Sir Henry Cranston, instead of being the type of man whom you have described, is one of the greatest experts upon coast defense and mine-laying, in the English Admiralty.” Lessingham laughed shortly. “That,” he declared, “is perfectly absurd.”