She glanced more than once at Lessingham, who was
sitting by her side, almost in admiration. His conversation, gay
at times, always polished, was interlarded continually with those
little social reminiscences inevitable amongst men moving in a
certain circle of English society. Apparently Richard Felstead
was not the only one of his college friends with whom he had kept
in touch. The last remnants of Captain Griffiths' suspicions
seemed to vanish with their second glass of port, although his
manner became in no way more genial.
"Don't you think you are almost a little too daring?" Philippa
asked her favoured guest as he helped her afterwards to set out
a bridge table.
"One adapts one's methods to one's adversary," he murmured, with a
smile, "Your friend Captain Griffiths had only the very conventional
suspicions. The mention of a few good English names, acquaintance
with the ordinary English sports, is quite sufficient with a man
like that."
Helen and Griffiths were talking at the other end of the room.
Philippa raised her eyes to her companion's.
"You become more of a mystery than ever," she declared. "You are
making me even curious. Tell me really why you have paid us this
visit from the clouds?"
She was sorry almost as soon as she had asked the question. For a
moment the calm insouciance of his manner seemed to have departed.
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