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Page 37
"I decline," she said, "to throw away my cigarette for any one."
"Least of all, I trust," a familiar voice interposed, "for me."
Philippa sat upright at once, smoothed her hair and looked a little
resentfully at Lessingham. He was wearing a brown tweed
knickerbocker suit, and he carried a gun under his arm.
"Whatever are you doing up here," she demanded, "and do you know
anything about our game laws? You can't come out into the woods
here and shoot things just because you feel like it."
He disposed of his gun and seated himself between them.
"That is quite all right," he assured her. "Your neighbour, Mr.
Windover, to whom these woods apparently belong, asked me to bring
my gun out this morning and try and get a woodcock."
"Gracious! You don't mean that Mr. Windover is here, too?" Philippa
demanded, looking around. Lessingham shook his head.
"His car came for him at the other side of the wood," he explained.
"He was wanted to go on the Bench. I elected to walk home."
"And the woodcock?" she asked. "I adore woodcock."
He produced one from his pocket, took up her felt hat, which was
lying amongst the bracken, and busied himself insinuating the pin
feathers under the silk band.
"There," he said, handing it to her, "the first woodcock of the
season. We got four, and I really only accepted one in the hope
that you would like it. I shall leave it with the estimable Mills,
on my return."
"You must come and share it," Philippa insisted. "Those boys of
Nora's are coming in to dinner. Your gift shall be the piece de
resistance."
"Then may I dine another night?" he begged. "This place encourages
in me the grossest of appetites."
"Have no fear," she replied. "You will never see that woodcock
again. I shall have it for my luncheon to-morrow. I ordered dinner
before I came out, and though it may be a simple feast, I promise
that you shall not go away hungry."
"Will you promise that you will never send me away hungry?" he asked,
dropping his voice for a moment.
She turned and studied him. Helen, who had strolled a few yards
away, was knee-deep in the golden brown bracken, picking some
gorgeously coloured leaves from a solitary bramble bush. Lessingham
had thrown his cap onto the ground, and his wind-tossed hair and the
unusual colour in his cheeks were both, in their way, becoming. His
loose but well-fitting country clothes, his tie and soft collar, were
all well-chosen and suitable. She admired his high forehead and his
firm, rather proud mouth. His eyes as well as his tone were full of
seriousness.
"You know that you ought to be saying that to some Gretchen away
across that terrible North Sea," she laughed.
"There is no Gretchen who has ever made my heart shake as you do,"
he whispered.
She picked up her hat and sighed.
"Really," she said, "I think things are quite complicated enough as
they are. I am in a flutter all day long, as it is, about your
mission here and your real identity. I simply could not include a
flirtation amongst my excitements."
"I have never flirted," he assured her gravely.
"Wise man," she pronounced, rising to her feet. "Come, let us go
and help Helen pick leaves. She is scratching her fingers terribly,
and I'm sure you have a knife. A dear, economical creature, Helen,"
she added, as they strolled along. "I am perfectly certain that
those are destined to adorn my dining-table, and, with chrysanthemums
at sixpence each, you can't imagine how welcome they are. Come,
produce the knife, Mr. Lessingham."
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