I have met a great many Germans," Richard went on, "and I've
killed a few, thank God!--but he is about as unlike the ordinary
type as any one I ever met. The only pity is that he ever served
his time with them."
Philippa had been listening attentively. She was more than ever
silent after her brother's little appreciation of his friend.
Richard glanced at her good-humouredly.
"You haven't killed the fatted calf for me in the shape of clothes,
Philippa," he observed. "One would think that you were going on
a journey."
She glanced down at her high-necked gown and avoided Helen's anxious
eyes.
"I may go for a walk," she said, "and leave you two young people to
talk secrets. I am rather fond of the garden these moonlight nights."
"When is Henry coming back?" her brother enquired.
Philippa's manner was quiet but ominous.
"I have no idea," she confessed. "He comes and goes as the whim
seizes him, and I very seldom know where he is. One week it is
whiting and another codling. Lately he seems to have shown some
partiality for London life."
Richard's eyes were wide open now.
"You mean to say that he is still not doing anything?"
"Nothing whatever."
"But what excuse does he give--or rather I should say reason?"
Richard persisted.
"He says that he is too old for a ship, and he won't work in an
office," Philippa replied.
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