CHAPTER XIII
Philippa leaned back in her place.
"Exactly what do you mean by that, Mr. Lessingham?" she demanded.
He shook himself free from a curious sense of unreality, and turnedtowards her.
"I must confess," he said, "that sometimes your husband puzzles me."
"Not nearly so much as he puzzles me," Philippa retorted, a littlebitterly.
"Has he always been so desperately interested in deep-sea fishing?"
Philippa shrugged her shoulders.
"More or less, but never quite to this extent. The thing has become anobsession with him lately. If you are really going to stay and talk withme, do you mind if we don't discuss my husband? Just now the subject israther a painful one with me."
"I can quite understand that," Lessingham murmured sympathetically.
"What do you think of Captain Griffiths?" she asked, a little abruptly.
"I have thought nothing more about him. Should I? Is he of any realimportance?"
"He is military commandant here."
Lessingham nodded thoughtfully.
"I suppose that means that he is the man who ought to be on my track,"he observed.
"I shouldn't be in the least surprised to hear that he was," Philippasaid drily. "I have told you that he came and asked about you the othernight, when he dined here. He seemed perfectly satisfied then, but heis here again to-night to see Henry, and he never visits anywhere in anordinary way."
"Are you uneasy about me?" Lessingham enquired.
"I am not sure," she answered frankly. "Sometimes I am almost terrifiedand would give anything to hear that you were on your way home. And atother times I realise that you are really very clever, that nothing islikely to happen to you, and that the place will seem duller than everwhen you do go."
"That is very kind of you," he said. "In any case, I fear that myholiday 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 nothingto 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, hereyes 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 alluringcurve.
"Really, Mr. Lessingham!" she exclaimed. "Have I ever given you theright 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 backthere. You are adopting their methods."
"I may have to at any moment," he admitted, "or to some more distantcountry still. I want something to take back with me."
"You want a keepsake, of course," Philippa declared, looking around theroom. "You can have my photograph--the one over there. Helen will giveyou one of hers, too, I am sure, if you ask her. She is just as gratefulto 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 reallydetermined to make love to me?"
"Ah, don't mock me!" he begged. "What I am saying to you comes from myheart."
Philippa laughed at him quietly. There was just a little break in hervoice, however.
"Don't be absurd!"
"There is nothing absurd about it," he replied, with a note of sadnessin his tone. "I felt it from the moment we met. I struggled against it,but I have felt it growing day by day. I came here with my mind filledwith different purposes. I had no thought of amusing myself, no thoughtof seeking here the happiness which up till now I seem to have missed.I came as a servant because I was sent, a mechanical being. You havechanged everything. For you I feel what I have never felt for any womanbefore. I place before you my career, my freedom, my honour."
Philippa sighed very softly.
"Do you mind ringing the bell?" she begged.
"The bell?" he repeated. "What for?"
"I want Helen to hear you," she confided, with a wonderful little smile.
"Philippa, don't mock me," he pleaded. "If this is only amusement toyou, tell me so and let me go away. It is the first time in my lifethat a woman has come between me and my work. I am no longer master ofmyself. I am obsessed with you. I want nothing else in life but yourlove."
There was an almost startling change in Philippa's face. The banterwhich had served her with so much effect, which she had relied upon asher defensive weapon, was suddenly useless. Lessingham had created anatmosphere around him, an atmosphere of sincerity.
"Are you in earnest?" she faltered.
"God knows I am!" he insisted.
"You--you care for me?"
"So much," he answered passionately, "that for your sake I wouldsacrifice my honour, my country, my life."
"But I've only known you for such a short time," Philippa protested,"and you're an enemy."
"I discard my birth. I renounce my adopted country," he declaredfiercely. "You have swept my life clear of every scrap of ambition andpatriotism. You have filled it with one thing only--a great, consuminglove."
"Have you forgotten my husband?"
"Do you think that if he had been a different sort of man I should havedared to speak? Ask yourself how you can continue to live with him? Youcan call him which you will. Both are equally disgraceful. Your heartknows the truth. He is either a coward or a philanderer."
Philippa's cheeks were suddenly white. Her eyes flashed. His words hadstung her to the quick.
"A coward?" she repeated furiously. "You dare to call Henry that?"
Lessingham rose abruptly to his feet. He moved restlessly about theroom. His fists were clenched, his tone thick with passion.
"I do!" he pronounced. "Philippa, look at this matter without prejudice.Do you believe that there is a single man of any country, of yourhusband's age and rank, who would be content to trawl the seas forfish whilst his country's blood is being drained dry? Who would weigha codling," he added, pointing scornfully to the scales, "whilst thefuneral march of heroes is beating throughout the world? The thing isinsensate, impossible!"
Philippa's head drooped. Her hands were nervously intertwined.
"Don't!" she pleaded, "I have suffered so much."
"Forgive me," he begged, with a sudden change of voice. "If I ammistaken in your husband--and there is always the chance--I am sorry.I will confess that I myself had a different opinion of him, but I canonly judge from what I have seen and from that there is no one in theworld who would not agree with me that your husband is unworthy of you."
"Oh, please stop!" Philippa cried. "Stop at once!"
Lessingham came back to his place by her side. His voice was stillshaking, but it had grown very soft.
"Philippa, forgive me," he repeated. "If you only knew how it hurts tosee you like this! Yet I must speak. There is just once in every man'slifetime when he must tell the truth. That time has come with me--I loveyou."
"So does my husband," she murmured.
"I will only remind you, then, that he shows it in strange fashion,"Lessingham continued. "He sets your wishes at defiance. He who should bean example in a small place like this, is only an object of contempt inthe neighbourhood. Even I, who have only lived here for so short a time,have caught the burden of what people say."
Philippa wipe
d her eyes.
"Please, do you mind," she begged, "not saying anything more aboutHenry. You are only reminding me of things which I try all the time toforget."
"Believe me," Lessingham answered wistfully, "I am only too content toignore him, to forget that he exists, to remember only that you are thewoman who has changed my life."
Philippa looked at him in something like dismay, rather like a child whohas started an engine which she has no idea how to stop.
"But you must not--you must not talk to me like this!"
His hand closed upon hers. It lay in his grasp, unyielding, cold, yetpassive.
"Why not?" he whispered. "I have the one unalterable right, and I amwilling to pay the great price."
"Right?" she faltered.
"The right of loving you--the right of loving you better than any womanin the world."
There was a queer silence, only partly due, as she was instantly aware,to the emotion of the moment. A door behind them had opened. Philippa'squicker senses had recognised her husband's footsteps. Lessingham rosedeliberately to his feet. In his heart he welcomed the interruption.This might, perhaps, be the decisive moment. Sir Henry was strollingtowards them. His manner and his tone, however, were alike good-natured.
"I was to order you into the billiard room, Mr. Lessingham," heannounced. "Sinclair has been sent for--a night route march, or somesuch horror--and they want you to make a four."
Lessingham hesitated. He had a passionate inclination to facethe situation, to tell this man the truth. Sir Henry's courteousindifference, however, was like a harrier. He recognised the inevitable.
"I am afraid I am rather out of practice," he said, "but I shall bedelighted to do my best."
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