"This is really the last straw."
They passed up the stairway and within a few feet of where Sir Henry
was standing. He appeared absorbed, however, in conversation with
his companion, and did not even turn around. Philippa's little
face seemed to have hardened as she took her seat. Only her eyes
were still unnaturally bright.
"I am so sorry if this has annoyed you," Lessingham regretted. "You
would not care to go elsewhere?"
"I? Go anywhere else?" she exclaimed scornfully. "Thank you, I am
perfectly satisfied here. And with my companion," she added, with
a brilliant little smile. "Now tell me about New York. Have you
ever been there?"
"Twice," he told her. "At present the dream of my life is to go
there with you."
She looked at him a little wonderingly.
"I wonder if you really care," she said. "Men get so much into the
habit of saying that sort of thing to women. Sometimes it seems to
me they must do a great deal of mischief. But you--Is that really
your wish?"
"I would sacrifice everything that I have ever held dear in life,"
he declared, with his face aglow, "for its realization."
"But you would be a deserter from your country," she pointed out.
"You would never be able to return. Your estates would be
confiscated. You would be homeless."
"Home," he said softly, "is where one's heart takes one.
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