"
Helen rose suddenly to her feet. She was a tall, fair girl of the
best Saxon type, slim but not in the least angular, with every
promise, indeed, of a fuller and more gracious development in the
years to come. She was barely twenty-two years old, and, as is
common with girls of her complexion, seemed younger. Her bright,
intelligent face was, above all, good-humoured. Just at that moment,
however, there was a flush of passionate anger in her cheeks.
"It makes me feel almost beside myself," she exclaimed, "this
hideous incapacity for doing anything! Here we are living in luxury,
without a single privation, whilst Dick, the dearest thing on
earth to both of us, is being starved and goaded to death in a foul
German prison!"
"We mustn't believe that it's quite so bad as that, dear," Philippa
remonstrated. "What is it, Mills?"
The elderly man-servant who had entered with a tray in his band,
bowed as he arranged it upon a side table.
"I have taken the liberty of bringing in a little fresh tea, your
ladyship," he announced, "and some hot buttered toast. Cook has
sent some of the sandwiches, too, which your ladyship generally
fancies."
"It is very kind of you, Mills," Philippa said, with rather a wan
little smile. "I had some tea at South Lynn, but it was very bad.
You might take my coat, please.
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