Upon my word, this is getting to be a house of mysteries!"
"The only mystery in it that I can see, is you, Henry," she declared.
"Me?" he protested. "I'm one of the simplest-minded fellows alive.
What is there mysterious about me?"
"Your ignominious life," was the cold reply.
"Jove, I got it that time!" he groaned,--"got it in the neck! But
didn't I tell you just now that I was turning over a new leaf?"
"Then prove it," Philippa pleaded. "Let me write to Rayton and beg
him to use his influence to get you something to do. I am sure you
would be happier, and I can't tell you what a difference it would
make to me."
"It's that indoor work I couldn't stick, old thing," he confided.
"You know, they're saying all the time it's a young man's war.
They'd make me take some one's place at home behind a desk."
"But even if they did," she protested, "even if they put you in a
coal cellar, wouldn't you be happier to feel that you were helping
your country? Wouldn't you be glad to know that I was happier?"
Sir Henry made a wry face.
"It seems to me that your outlook is a trifle superficial, dear,"
he grumbled. "However--now what the dickens is the matter?"
The door had been opened by Mills, with his usual smoothness, but
Jimmy Dumble, out of breath and excited, pushed his way into the
room.
"Hullo? What is it, Jimmy?" his patron demanded.
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