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out of date.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.
He closed the door after her. For a moment he remained as though
undecided whether to follow or not.
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