"That was before the war," she sighed.
"I still think Henry is a dear, though I don't altogether understand
him," Helen said thoughtfully.
"No doubt," Philippa assented, "but you'd find the not understanding
him a little more galling, if you were his wife. You see, I didn't
know that I was marrying a sort of sporting Mr. Skimpole."
"I wonder," Helen reflected, "how Henry and Mr. Lessingham will get
on when they see more of one another."
"I really don't care," Philippa observed indifferently.
"I used to notice sometimes--that was soon after you were married,"
Helen continued, "that Henry was just a little inclined to be
jealous."
Philippa withdrew her eyes from the sea. There was a queer little
smile upon her lips.
"Well, if he still is," she said, "I'll give him something to be
jealous about."
"Poor Mr. Lessingham!" Helen murmured.
Philippa's eyebrows were raised.
"Poor Mr. Lessingham?" she repeated. "I don't think you'll find
that he'll be in the least sorry for himself."
"He may be in earnest," Helen reminded her friend. "You can be
horribly attractive when you like, you know, Philippa."
Philippa smiled sweetly.
"It is just possible," she said, "that I may be in earnest myself.
I've quarrelled pretty desperately with Henry, you know, and I'm a
helpless creature without a little admiration.
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