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Page 42
Sir Henry rose abruptly to his feet.
"Oh, damn!" he exclaimed.
He walked to the door. His guests were still lingering over their
wine. He could hear their voices more distinctly than ever. Then
he came back to the sofa and stood by Philippa's side.
"Philippa, old girl," he pleaded, "don't let us quarrel. I have had
such a hard fortnight, a nor'easter blowing all the time, and the
dirtiest seas I've ever known at this time of the year. For five days
I hadn't a dry stitch on me, and it was touch and go more than once.
We were all in the water together, and there was a nasty green wave
that looked like a mountain overhead, and the side of our own boat
bending over us as though it meant to squeeze our ribs in. It looked
like ten to one against us, Phil, and I got a worse chill than the
sea ever gave me when I thought that I shouldn't see you again."
Philippa laid down her knitting. She looked searchingly into her
husband's face. She was very far from indifferent to his altered
tone.
"Henry," she said, "that sounds very terrible, but why do you run
such risks--unworthily? Do you think that I couldn't give you all
that you want, all that I have to give, if you came home to me with
a story like this and I knew that you had been facing death
righteously and honourably for your country's sake? Why, Henry,
there isn't a man in the world could have such a welcome as I could
give you. Do you think I am cold? Of course you don't! Do you
think I want to feel as I have done this last fortnight towards you?
Why, it's misery! It makes me feel inclined to commit any folly,
any madness, to get rid of it all."
Her husband hesitated. A frown had darkened his face. He had the
air of one who is on the eve of a confession.
"Philippa," he began, "you know that when I go out on these fishing
expeditions, I also put in some work at the new chart which I am so
anxious to prepare for the fishermen."
Philippa shook her head impatiently.
"Don't talk to me about your fishermen, Henry! I'm as sick with
them as I am with you. You can see twenty or thirty of them any
morning, lounging about the quay, strapping young fellows who
shelter themselves behind the plea of privileged employment. We are
notorious down here for our skulkers, and you--you who should be
the one man to set them an example, are as bad as they are. You
deliberately encourage them."
Sir Henry abandoned his position by his wife's side, His face
darkened and his eyes flashed.
"Skulkers?" he repeated furiously.
Philippa looked at him without flinching.
"Yes! Don't you like the word?"
The angry flush faded from his cheeks as quickly as it had come. He
laughed a little unnaturally, took up a cigarette from an open box,
and lit it.
"It isn't a pleasant one, is it, Philippa?" he observed, thrusting
his hands into his jacket pockets strolling away. "If one doesn't
feel the call--well, there you are, you see. Jove, that's a fine
fish."
He stood admiring the codling upon the scales. Philippa continued
her work.
"If you intend to spend the rest of the evening with us," she told
him calmly, "please let me remind you again that we have guests for
dinner. Your present attire may be comfortable but it is scarcely
becoming."
He turned away and came back towards her. As he passed the lamp,
she started.
"Why, you're wet," she exclaimed, "wet through!"
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