The Zeppelin's Passenger Part 18

"That sounds just a trifle hard," he said slowly.

"I am hard sometimes," Philippa confessed. "You know that quite well.

There are times when I just feel as though I had no heart at all, nor any sympathy; when every sensation I might have had seems shrivelled up inside me."

"Is that how you are feeling at the present time towards me, Philippa?"

he asked.

Her needles flashed through the wool for a moment in silence.

"You had every warning," she told him. "I tried to make you understand exactly how your behaviour disgusted me before you went away."

"Yes, I remember," he admitted. "I'm afraid, dear, you think I am a worthless sort of a fellow."

Philippa had apparently dropped a st.i.tch. She bent lower still over her knitting. There was a distinct frown upon her forehead, her mouth was unrecognisable.

"Your friend Lessingham is here still, I understand?" her husband remarked presently.

"Yes," Philippa a.s.sented, "he is dining to-night. You will probably see him in a few minutes."

Sir Henry looked thoughtful, and studied for a moment the toe of a remarkably unprepossessing looking shoe.

"You're so keen about that sort of thing," he said, "what about Lessingham? He is not soldiering or anything, is he?"

"I have no idea," Philippa replied. "He walks with a slight limp and admits that he is here as a convalescent, but he hasn't told us very much about himself."

"I wonder you haven't tackled him," Sir Henry continued. "You're such an ardent recruiter, you ought to make sure that he is doing his bit of butchery."

Philippa looked up at her husband for a moment and back at her work.

"Mr. Lessingham," she said, "is a very delightful friend, whose stay here every one is enjoying very much, but he is a comparative stranger.

I feel no responsibility as to his actions."

"And you do as to mine?"

"Naturally."

Sir Henry's head was resting on his hand, his elbow on the back of the lounge. He seemed to be listening to the voices in the dining room beyond.

"Hm!" he observed. "Has he been here often while I've been away?"

"As often as he chose," Philippa replied. "He has become very popular in the neighbourhood already, and he is an exceedingly welcome guest here at any time."

"Takes advantage of your hospitality pretty often, doesn't he?"

"He is here most days. We are always rather disappointed when he doesn't come."

Sir Henry's frown grew a little deeper.

"What's the attraction?" he demanded.

Philippa smiled. It was the smile which those who knew her best, feared.

"Well," she confided, "I used to imagine that it was Helen, but I think that he has become a little bored, talking about nothing but d.i.c.k and their college days. I am rather inclined to fancy that it must be me."

"You, indeed!" he grunted. "Are you aware that you are a married woman?"

Philippa glanced up from her work. Her eyebrows were raised, and her expression was one of mild surprise.

"How queer that you should remind me of it!" she murmured. "I am afraid that the sea air disturbs your memory."

Sir Henry rose abruptly to his feet.

"Oh, d.a.m.n!" 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 st.i.tch 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 fis.h.i.+ng 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."