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Page 36
"You mean," her friend observed drily "the Baron Maderstrom."
Philippa looked around and frowned.
"You are most indiscreet, Helen," she declared. "I have learnt
something of the science of espionage lately, and I can assure you
that all spoken or written words are dangerous. There is a
thoroughly British squirrel in that tree overhead, and I am sure
he heard."
"I suppose the sunshine has got into your head," Helen groaned.
"If you mean that I am finding it a relief to talk nonsense, you are
right," Philippa assented. "As a matter of fact, I am feeling most
depressed. Henry telephoned from somewhere or other before breakfast
this morning, to say that he should probably be home to-night or
to-morrow. They must have landed somewhere down the coast."
"You are a most undutiful wife," Helen pronounced severely. "I am
sure Henry is a delightful person, even if he is a little
irresponsible, and it is almost pathetic to remember how much you
were in love with him, a year or two ago."
Some of the lightness vanished from Philippa's face.
"That was before the war," she sighed.
"I still think Henry is a dear, though I don't altogether understand
him," Helen said thoughtfully.
"No doubt," Philippa assented, "but you'd find the not understanding
him a little more galling, if you were his wife. You see, I didn't
know that I was marrying a sort of sporting Mr. Skimpole."
"I wonder," Helen reflected, "how Henry and Mr. Lessingham will get
on when they see more of one another."
"I really don't care," Philippa observed indifferently.
"I used to notice sometimes--that was soon after you were married,"
Helen continued, "that Henry was just a little inclined to be
jealous."
Philippa withdrew her eyes from the sea. There was a queer little
smile upon her lips.
"Well, if he still is," she said, "I'll give him something to be
jealous about."
"Poor Mr. Lessingham!" Helen murmured.
Philippa's eyebrows were raised.
"Poor Mr. Lessingham?" she repeated. "I don't think you'll find
that he'll be in the least sorry for himself."
"He may be in earnest," Helen reminded her friend. "You can be
horribly attractive when you like, you know, Philippa."
Philippa smiled sweetly.
"It is just possible," she said, "that I may be in earnest myself.
I've quarrelled pretty desperately with Henry, you know, and I'm a
helpless creature without a little admiration."
Helen rose suddenly to her feet. Her eyes were fixed upon a figure
approaching through the wood.
"You really aren't respectable, Philippa," she declared. "Throw
away your cigarette, for heaven's sake, and sit up. Some one is
coming."
Philippa only moved her head lazily. The sunlight, which came down
in a thousand little zigzags through the wind-tossed trees, fell
straight upon her rather pale, defiant little face, with its
unexpressed evasive charm, and seemed to find a new depth of colour
in the red-gold of her disordered hair. Her slim, perfect body was
stretched almost at full length, one leg drawn a little up, her hands
carelessly drooping towards the grass. The cigarette was still
burning in the corner of her lips.
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