“Nine years makes a lot of difference,” he reminded her, “and besides, I have a theory that it is only when the eyes meet that recognition really takes place. So long as I do not look into any one's face, I feel quite safe.” “You are sure that you would not like to go to a smaller place than the Carlton?” “It makes no difference,” he assured her. “My credentials have been wonderfully established for me.” “I'm so glad,” she confessed. “I know it's most unfashionable, but I do like these big places. If ever I had my way, I should like to live in London and have a cottage in the country, instead of living in the country and being just an hotel dweller in London.” “I wonder if New York would not do?” he ventured. “I expect I should like New York,” she murmured. “I think,” he said, “in fact, I am almost sure that when I leave here I shall go to the United States.” She looked at him and turned suddenly away. They arrived just then at their destination, and the moment passed. Lessingham left his companion in the lounge while he went back into the restaurant to secure his table and order lunch. When he came back, he found Philippa sitting very upright and with a significant glitter in her eyes. “Look over there,” she whispered, “by the palm.” He followed the direction which she indicated. A man was standing against one of the pillars, talking to a tall, dark woman, obviously a foreigner, wrapped in wonderful furs. There was something familiar about his figure and the slight droop of his head. “Why, it's Sir Henry!” Lessingham exclaimed, as the man turned around. “My husband,” Philippa faltered. Sir Henry, if indeed it were he, seemed afflicted with a sudden shortsightedness. He met the incredulous gaze both of Lessingham and his wife without recognition or any sign of flinching. At that distance it was impossible to see the tightening of his lips and the steely flash in his blue eyes. “The whiting seem to have brought him a long way,” Philippa said, with an unnatural little laugh. “Shall I go and speak to him?” Lessingham asked. “For heaven's sake, no!” she insisted. “Don't leave me. I wouldn't have him come near me for anything in the world. It is only a few weeks ago that I begged him to come to London with me, and he said that he hated the place. You don't know--the woman?” Lessingham shook his head. “She looks like a foreigner,” was all he could say. “Take me in to lunch at once,” Philippa begged, rising abruptly to her feet. “This is really the last straw.” They passed up the stairway and within a few feet of where Sir Henry was standing. He appeared absorbed, however, in conversation with his companion, and did not even turn around. Philippa's little face seemed to have hardened as she took her seat. Only her eyes were still unnaturally bright. “I am so sorry if this has annoyed you,” Lessingham regretted. “You would not care to go elsewhere?”