CHAPTER XVII
Punctually at 12 o'clock the next morning, Lessingham presented
himself at the hotel in Dover Street and was invited by the hall
porter to take a seat in the lounge. Philippa entered, a few
minutes later, her eyes and cheeks brilliant with the brisk exercise
she had been taking, her slim figure most becomingly arrayed in
grey cloth and chinchilla.
"I lost Helen in Harrod's," she announced, "but I know she's
lunching with friends, so it really doesn't matter. You'll have
to take care of me, Mr. Lessingham, until the train goes, if you
will."
"For even longer than that, if you will," he murmured.
She laughed. "More pretty speeches? I don't think I'm equal to
them before luncheon."
"This time I am literal," he explained. "I am coming back to
Dreymarsh myself."
He felt his heart beat quicker, a sudden joy possessed him.
Philippa's expression was obviously one of satisfaction.
"I'm so glad," she assured him. "Do you know, I was thinking only
as I came back in the taxicab, how I should miss you."
She was standing with her foot upon the broad fender, and her first
little impulse of pleasure seemed to pass as she looked into the
fire. She turned towards him gravely.
"After all, do you think you are wise?" she asked. "Of course, I
don't think that any one at Dreymarsh has the least suspicion, but
you know Captain Griffiths did ask questions, and--well, you're
safely away now.
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