"What a chaperon I am!" Philippa sighed. "I scarcely know anything
about the young man except his name and that he was in Dick's
regiment."
"I did not hear it," Lessingham observed, "but I feel deeply
grateful to him. It is so seldom that I have a chance to talk to
you alone like this."
"It seems incredible that we have talked so long," Philippa said,
glancing at the watch upon her wrist. "I really feel now that I
know all about you--your school days, your college days, and your
soldiering. You have been very frank, haven't you?"
"I have nothing to conceal--from you," he replied. "If there is
anything more you want to know--"
"There is nothing," she interrupted uneasily.
"Perhaps you are wise," he reflected, "and yet some day, you know,
you will have to hear it all, over and over again."
"I will not be made love to in a restaurant," she declared firmly.
"You are so particular as to localities," he complained. "You could
not see your way clear, I suppose, to suggest what you would consider
a suitable environment?"
Philippa looked at him for a moment very earnestly.
"Ah, don't let us play at things we neither of us feel!" she begged.
"And there is some one there who wants to speak to you."
Lessingham looked up into the face of the man who had paused before
their table, as one might look into the face of unexpected death.
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