The Zeppelin's Passenger Part 11

"Don't jest," she begged. "It hurts me so. What I mean is surely plain enough. I will continue to live under your roof if you wish it, or I am perfectly willing to go back to Wood Norton. I will continue to bear your name because I must, but the other ties between us are finished."

"You don't mean this, Philippa," he said gravely.

"But I do mean it," she insisted. "I mean every word I have spoken. So far as I am concerned, Henry, this is your last chance."

There was a knock at the door. Mills entered with a note upon a salver.

Sir Henry took it up, glanced questioningly at his wife, and tore open the envelope.

"There will be no answer, Mills," he said.

The man withdrew. Sir Henry read the few lines thoughtfully:--

Police-station, Dreymarsh SIR,

According to enquiries made I find that Mr. Hamar Lessingham arrived at the Hotel this evening in time for dinner. His luggage arrived by rail yesterday. It is presumed that he came by motor-car, but there is no car in the garage, nor any mention of one. His room was taken for him by Miss Fairclough, ringing up for Lady Cranston about seven o'clock.

Respectfully yours, JOHN HAYLOCK.

"Is your note of interest?" Philippa enquired.

"In a sense, yes," he replied, thrusting it into his waistcoat pocket.

"I presume we can consider our late subject of conversation finished with?"

"I have nothing more to say," she p.r.o.nounced.

"Very well, then," her husband agreed, "let us select another topic.

This time, supposing I choose?"

"You are welcome."

"Let us converse, then, about Mr. Hamar Lessingham."

Philippa had taken up her work. Her fingers ceased their labours, but she did not look up.

"About Mr. Hamar Lessingham," she repeated. "Rather a limited subject, I am afraid."

"I am not so sure," he said thoughtfully. "For instance, who is he?"

"I have no idea," she replied. "Does it matter? He was at college with Richard, and he has been a visitor at Wood Norton. That is all that we know. Surely it is sufficient for us to offer him any reasonable hospitality?"

"I am not disputing it," Sir Henry a.s.sured her. "On the face of it, it seems perfectly reasonable that you should be civil to him. On the other hand, there are one or two rather curious points about his coming here just now."

"Really?" Philippa murmured indifferently, bending a little lower over her work.

"In the first place," her husband continued, "how did he arrive here?"

"For all I know," she replied, "he may have walked."

"A little unlikely. Still, he didn't come from London by either of the evening trains, and it seems that you didn't take his rooms for him until about seven o'clock, before which time he hadn't been to the hotel. So, you see, one is driven to wonder how the mischief he did get here."

"I took his rooms?" Philippa repeated, with a sudden little catch at her heart.

"Some one from here rang up, didn't they?" Sir Henry went on carelessly.

"I gathered that we were introducing him at the hotel."

"Where did you hear that?" she demanded.

He shrugged his shoulders, but avoided answering the question.

"I have no doubt," he continued, "that the whole subject of Mr. Hamar Lessingham is scarcely worth discussing. Yet he does seem to have arrived here under a little halo of coincidence."

"I am afraid I have scarcely appreciated that," Philippa remarked; "in fact, his coming here has seemed to me the most ordinary thing in the world. After all, although one scarcely remembers that since the war, this is a health resort, and the man has been ill."

"Quite right," Sir Henry agreed. "You are not going to bed, dear?"

Philippa had folded up her work. She stood for a moment upon the hearth-rug. The little hardness which had tightened her mouth had disappeared, her eyes had softened.

"May I say just one word more," she begged, "about our previous--our only serious subject of conversation? I have tried my best since we were married, Henry, to make you happy."

"You know quite well," he a.s.sured her, "that you have succeeded."

"Grant me one favour, then," she pleaded. "Give up your fishing expedition to-morrow, go back to London by the first train and let me write to Lord Rayton. I am sure he would do something for you."

"Of course he'd do something!" Her husband groaned. "I should get a censorship in Ireland, or a post as instructor at Portsmouth."

"Wouldn't you rather take either of those than nothing?" she asked, "than go on living the life you are living now?"

"To be perfectly frank with you, Philippa, I wouldn't," he declared bluntly. "What on earth use should I be in a land appointment? Why, no one could read my writing, and my nautical science is entirely out of date. Why a cadet at Osborne could floor me in no time."

"You refuse to let me write, then?" she persisted.

"Absolutely."

"You intend to go on that fishing expedition with Jimmy Dumble to-morrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it for anything," he confessed.

Philippa was suddenly white with anger.

"Henry, I've finished," she declared, holding out her hand to keep him away from her. "I've finished with you entirely. I would rather be married to an enemy who was fighting honourably for his country than to you. What I have said, I mean. Don't come near me. Don't try to touch me."

She swept past him on her way to the door.

"Not even a good-night kiss?" he asked, stooping down.

She looked him in the eyes.

"I am not a child," she said scornfully.