The Zeppelin's Passenger
Sir Henry was obviously not in the best of tempers. For a mild-mannered and easy-going
man, his expression was scarcely normal.
"That fellow was making love to you," he said bluntly, as soon as the door was closed
Philippa looked up at her husband with an air of pleasant candour.
"He was doing it very nicely, too," she admitted.
"You mean to say that you let him?"
"I listened to what he had to say," she confessed. "It didn't occur to you, I suppose," her
husband remarked, with somewhat strained sarcasm, "that you were another man's wife?"
"I am doing my best to forget that fact," Philippa reminded him.
"I see! And he is to help you?"
Sir Henry's irritation was fast merging into anger.
"I shall turn the fellow out of the house," he declared.
Philippa shrugged her shoulders.
"Why don't you?"
He seated himself on the couch by his wife's side. "Look here, Philippa, don't let's
wrangle," he begged. "I'm afraid you'll have to make up your mind to see a good deal less
of your friend Lessingham, anyway."
Philippa's brows were knitted. She was conscious of a vague uneasiness.
"Really? And why?"
"For one thing," her husband explained, "because I don't intend to have him hanging
about my house during my absence."
"The best way to prevent that would be not to go away," Philippa suggested.
"Well, in all probability," he announced guardedly, "I am not going away again - at least
not just yet."