ion, and the moment passed. Lessingham left his companion
in the lounge while he went back into the restaurant to secure his
table and order lunch. When he came back, he found Philippa sitting very
upright and with a significant glitter in her eyes.

"Look over there," she whispered, "by the palm."

He followed the direction which she indicated. A man was standing
against one of the pillars, talking to a tall, dark woman, obviously a
foreigner, wrapped in wonderful furs. There was something familiar about
his figure and the slight droop of his head.

"Why, it's Sir Henry!" Lessingham exclaimed, as the man turned around.

"My husband," Philippa faltered.

Sir Henry, if indeed it were he, seemed afflicted with a sudden
shortsightedness. He met the incredulous gaze both of Lessingham and his
wife without recognition or any sign of flinching. At that distance it
was impossible to see the tightening of his lips and the steely flash in
his blue eyes.

"The whiting seem to have brought him a long way," Philippa said, with
an unnatural little laugh.

"Shall I go and speak to him?" Lessingham asked.

"For heaven's sake, no!" she insisted. "Don't leave me. I wouldn't have
him come near me for anything in the world. It is only a few weeks ago
that I begged him to come to London with me, and he said that he hated
the place. You don't know--the woman?"

Lessingham shook his head.

"She looks like a foreigner," was all he could say.

"Take me in to lunch at once," Philippa begged, rising abruptly to her
feet. "This is really the last straw."

They passed up the stairway and within a few feet of where Sir Henry
was standing. He appeared absorbed, however, in conversation with his
companion, and did not even turn around. Philippa's little face
seemed to have hardened as she took her seat. Only her eyes were still
unnaturally bright.

"I am so sorry if this has annoyed you," Lessingham regretted. "You
would not care to go elsewhere?"

"I? Go anywhere else?" she exclaimed scornfully. "Thank you, I am
perfectly satisfied here. And with my companion," she added, with a
brilliant little smile. "Now tell me about New York. Have you ever been
there?"

"Twice," he told her. "At present the dream of my life is to go there
with you."

She looked at him a little wonderingly.

"I wonder if you really care," she said. "Men get so much into the habit
of saying that sort of thing to women. Sometimes it seems to me they
must do