h some emphasis, "I hope that he has."

"If we are considering the personal point of view only," Philippa
retorted, "I hope that he has not."

Helen looked her disapproval.

"I should have thought that you had had enough playing with fire," she
observed.

"One never has until one has burned one's fingers," Philippa sighed.
"I know perfectly well what is the matter with you," she continued
severely. "You are fretting because curried chicken is Dick's favourite
dish."

"I am not such a baby," Helen protested. "All the same, it does make one
think. I wonder--"

"I know exactly what you were going to say," Philippa interrupted. "You
were going to say that you wondered whether Mr. Lessingham would keep
his promise."

"Whether he would be able to," Helen corrected. "It does seem so
impossible, doesn't it?"

"So does Mr. Lessingham himself," Philippa reminded her. "It isn't
exactly a usual thing, is it, to have a perfectly charming and well-bred
young man step out of a Zeppelin into your drawing-room."

"You really believe, then," Helen asked eagerly, "that he will be able
to keep his promise?"

Philippa nodded confidently.

"Do you know," she said, "I believe that Mr. Lessingham, by some means
or another, would keep any promise he ever made. I am expecting to see
Dick at any moment now, so you can get on with your lunch, dear, and not
sit looking at the curry with tears in your eyes."

"It isn't the curry so much as the chutney," Helen protested faintly.
"He never would touch any other sort."

"Well, I shouldn't be surprised if he were here to finish the bottle,"
Philippa declared. "I have a feeling this morning that something is
going to happen."

"How long has Nora gone away for?" Helen enquired, after a moment's
pause.

"A fortnight or three weeks," Philippa answered. "Her grandmother wired
that she would be glad to have her until Christmas."

"Just why," Helen asked seriously, "have you sent her away?"

Philippa toyed with her curry, and glanced around as though she
regretted Mills' absence from the room.

"I thought it best," she said quietly. "You see, I am not quite sure
what the immediate future of this menage is going to be."

Helen leaned across the table and laid her hand upon her friend's.

"Dear," she sighed, "it worries me so to hear you talk like that."

"Why?"

"Because you know perfectly well, although you profess to ignore it,
that at the bottom of your heart there is no one els