CHAPTER XI
Sir Henry stepped back from the scales and eyed the fish which they hadbeen weighing, admiringly.
"You see that, Mills? You see that, Jimmy?" he pointed out. "Six andthree-quarter pounds! I was right almost to an ounce. He's a finefellow!"
"A very extraordinary fish, sir," the butler observed. "Will you allowme to take your oilskins? Dinner was served nearly an hour ago."
Sir Henry slipped off his dripping overalls and handed them over.
"That's all right," he replied. "Listen. Don't say a word about myarrival to your mistress at present. I have some writing to do. Bringme a glass of sherry at once, or mix a cocktail if you can do so withoutbeing missed, and take Jimmy away and give him some whisky and soda."
"But what about your own dinner, sir?"
"I'll have a tray in the gun room," his master decided, "say in twentyminutes' time. And, Mills, who did you say were dining?"
"Two of the young officers from the Depot, sir--Mr. Harrison and Mr.Sinclair--and Mr. Hamar Lessingham."
"Lessingham, eh?" Sir Henry repeated, as he seated himself before hiswriting-table. "Mills," he added, in a confidential whisper, "what portdid you serve?"
The butler's expression was one of conscious rectitude.
"Not the vintage, sir," he announced with emphasis. "Some very excellentwood port, which we procured for shooting luncheons. The young gentlemenlike it."
"You're a jewel, Mills," his master declared. "Now you understand--anaperitif for me now, some whisky for Jimmy in your room, and not a wordabout my being here. Good night, Jimmy. Sorry we were too late for themackerel, but we had some grand sport, all the same. You'll have a dayor two's rest ashore now."
"Aye, aye, sir!" Dumble replied. "We got in just in time. There'ssomething more than a squall coming up nor'ards."
Sir Henry listened for a moment. The French windows shook, the rain beatagainst the panes, and a dull booming of wind was clearly audible fromoutside.
"We timed that excellently," he agreed. "Come up and have a chatto-morrow, Jimmy, if your wife will spare you."
"I'll be round before eleven, sir," the fisherman promised, with a grin.
Sir Henry waited for the closing of the door. Then he leaned forward forseveral moments. He had scarcely the appearance of a man returned from aweek or two of open-air life and indulgence in the sport he loved best.The healthy tan of his complexion was lessened rather than increased.There were black lines under his eyes which seemed to speak of sleeplessnights, and a beard of several days' growth was upon his chin. He drankthe cocktail which Mills presently brought him, at a gulp, and watchedwith satisfaction while the mixer was vigorously shaken and a second onepoured out.
"We've had a rough time, Mills," he observed, as he set down the glass."Until this morning it scarcely left off blowing."
"I'm sorry to hear it, sir," was the respectful reply. "If I may beallowed to say so, sir, you're looking tired."
"I am tired," Sir Henry admitted. "I think, if I tried, I could go tosleep now for twenty-four hours."
"You will pardon my reminding you, so far as regards your letters, thatthere is no post out tonight, sir," Mills proceeded. "I have prepared awarm bath and laid out your clothes for a change."
"Capital!" Sir Henry exclaimed. "It isn't a letter that's bothering me,though, Mills. There are just a few geographical notes I want to make.You know, I'm trying to improve the fishermen's chart of the coast roundhere. That fellow Groocock--Jimmy Dumble's uncle--very nearly lost hismotor boat last week through trusting to the old one."
"Just so, sir," Mills replied deferentially, placing the empty glassupon his tray. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I must get back to the diningroom."
"Quite right," his master assented. "They won't be out just yet, willthey?"
"Her ladyship will probably be rising in about ten minutes, sir--notbefore that."
Sir Henry nodded a little impatiently. Directly the door was closedhe rose to his feet, stood for a moment listening by the side of hisfishing cabinet, then opened the glass front and touched the spring.With the aid of a little electric torch which he took from his pocket,he studied particularly a certain portion of the giant chart, made somemeasurements with a pencil, some notes in the margin, and closed itup again with an air of satisfaction. Then he resumed his seat, drewa folded slip of paper from his breast pocket, a chart from another,turned up the lamp and began to write. His face, as he stooped low,escaped the soft shade and was for a moment almost ghastly. Every nowand then he turned and made some calculations on the blotting-paper byhis side. At last he leaned back with a little sigh of relief. He hadbarely done so before the door behind him was opened.
"Are we going to stay in here, Mummy, or are we going into thedrawing-room?" Nora asked.
"In here, I think," he heard Philippa reply.
Then they both came in, followed by Helen. Nora was the first to see himand rushed forward with a little cry of surprise.
"Why, here's Dad!" she exclaimed, flinging her arms around his neck."Daddy, how dare you be sitting here all by yourself whilst we arehaving dinner! When did you get back? What a fish!"
Sir Henry closed down his desk, embraced his daughter, and came forwardto meet his wife.
"Fine fellow, isn't he, Nora!" he agreed. "Well, Philippa, how are you?Pleased to see me, I hope? Another new frock, I believe, and in wartime!"
"Fancy your remembering that it was war time!" she answered, standingvery still while he leaned over and kissed her.
"Nasty one for me," Sir Henry observed good-humouredly. "How well you'relooking, Helen! Any news of Dick yet?"
Helen attempted an expression of extreme gravity with more or lesssuccess.
"Nothing fresh," she answered.
"Well, well, no news may be good news," Sir Henry remarked consolingly."Jove, it's good to feel a roof over one's head again! This morning hasbeen the only patch of decent weather we've had."
"This morning was lovely," Helen assented. "Philippa and I went and satup in the woods."
Philippa, who was standing by the fire, turned and looked at her husbandcritically.
"We have some men dining," she said. "They will be out in a few minutes.Don't you think you had better go and make yourself presentable? Yousmell of fish, and you look as though you hadn't shaved for a week."
"Guilty, my dear," Sir Henry admitted. "Mills is just getting mesomething to eat in the gun room, and then I am going to have a bath andchange my clothes."
"And shave, Dad," Nora reminded him.
"And shave, you young pest," her father agreed, patting her on theshoulder. "Run away and play billiards with Helen. I want to talk toyour mother until my dinner's ready."
Nora acquiesced promptly.
"Come along, Helen, I'll give you twenty-five up. Or perhaps you'd liketo play shell out?" she proposed. "Arthur Sinclair says I have improvedin my potting more than any one he ever knew."
Sir Henry opened the door and closed it after them. Then he returned andseated himself on the lounge by Philippa's side. She glanced up athim as though in surprise, and, stretching out her hand towards herwork-basket, took up some knitting.
"I really think I should change at once, if I were you," she suggested.
"Presently. I had a sort of foolish idea that I'd like to have a word ortwo with you first. I've been away for nearly a fortnight, haven't I?"
"You have," Philippa assented. "Perhaps that is the reason why I feelthat I haven't very much to say to you."
"That sounds just a trifle hard," he said slowly.
"I am hard sometimes," Philippa confessed. "You know that quite well.There are times when I just feel as though I had no heart at all, norany sympathy; when every sensation I might have had seems shrivelled upinside me."
"Is that how you are feeling at the present time towards me, Philippa?"he asked.
Her needles flashed through the wool for a moment in silence.
"You had every warning," she told him. "I tried to make
you understandexactly how your behaviour disgusted me before you went away."
"Yes, I remember," he admitted. "I'm afraid, dear, you think I am aworthless sort of a fellow."
Philippa had apparently dropped a stitch. She bent lower still over herknitting. There was a distinct frown upon her forehead, her mouth wasunrecognisable.
"Your friend Lessingham is here still, I understand?" her husbandremarked presently.
"Yes," Philippa assented, "he is dining to-night. You will probably seehim in a few minutes."
Sir Henry looked thoughtful, and studied for a moment the toe of aremarkably unprepossessing looking shoe.
"You're so keen about that sort of thing," he said, "what aboutLessingham? He is not soldiering or anything, is he?"
"I have no idea," Philippa replied. "He walks with a slight limp andadmits that he is here as a convalescent, but he hasn't told us verymuch about himself."
"I wonder you haven't tackled him," Sir Henry continued. "You're suchan ardent recruiter, you ought to make sure that he is doing his bit ofbutchery."
Philippa looked up at her husband for a moment and back at her work.
"Mr. Lessingham," she said, "is a very delightful friend, whose stayhere every one is enjoying very much, but he is a comparative stranger.I feel no responsibility as to his actions."
"And you do as to mine?"
"Naturally."
Sir Henry's head was resting on his hand, his elbow on the back ofthe lounge. He seemed to be listening to the voices in the dining roombeyond.
"Hm!" he observed. "Has he been here often while I've been away?"
"As often as he chose," Philippa replied. "He has become very popular inthe neighbourhood already, and he is an exceedingly welcome guest hereat any time."
"Takes advantage of your hospitality pretty often, doesn't he?"
"He is here most days. We are always rather disappointed when he doesn'tcome."
Sir Henry's frown grew a little deeper.
"What's the attraction?" he demanded.
Philippa smiled. It was the smile which those who knew her best, feared.
"Well," she confided, "I used to imagine that it was Helen, but I thinkthat he has become a little bored, talking about nothing but Dick andtheir college days. I am rather inclined to fancy that it must be me."
"You, indeed!" he grunted. "Are you aware that you are a married woman?"
Philippa glanced up from her work. Her eyebrows were raised, and herexpression was one of mild surprise.
"How queer that you should remind me of it!" she murmured. "I am afraidthat the sea air disturbs your memory."
Sir Henry rose abruptly to his feet.
"Oh, damn!" he exclaimed.
He walked to the door. His guests were still lingering over their wine.He could hear their voices more distinctly than ever. Then he came backto the sofa and stood by Philippa's side.
"Philippa, old girl," he pleaded, "don't let us quarrel. I have had sucha hard fortnight, a nor'easter blowing all the time, and the dirtiestseas I've ever known at this time of the year. For five days I hadn't adry stitch on me, and it was touch and go more than once. We were all inthe water together, and there was a nasty green wave that looked likea mountain overhead, and the side of our own boat bending over usas though it meant to squeeze our ribs in. It looked like ten to oneagainst us, Phil, and I got a worse chill than the sea ever gave me whenI thought that I shouldn't see you again."
Philippa laid down her knitting. She looked searchingly into herhusband's face. She was very far from indifferent to his altered tone.
"Henry," she said, "that sounds very terrible, but why do you run suchrisks--unworthily? Do you think that I couldn't give you all that youwant, all that I have to give, if you came home to me with a storylike this and I knew that you had been facing death righteously andhonourably for your country's sake? Why, Henry, there isn't a man in theworld could have such a welcome as I could give you. Do you think I amcold? Of course you don't! Do you think I want to feel as I have donethis last fortnight towards you? Why, it's misery! It makes me feelinclined to commit any folly, any madness, to get rid of it all."
Her husband hesitated. A frown had darkened his face. He had the air ofone who is on the eve of a confession.
"Philippa," he began, "you know that when I go out on these fishingexpeditions, I also put in some work at the new chart which I am soanxious to prepare for the fishermen."
Philippa shook her head impatiently.
"Don't talk to me about your fishermen, Henry! I'm as sick with themas I am with you. You can see twenty or thirty of them any morning,lounging about the quay, strapping young fellows who shelter themselvesbehind the plea of privileged employment. We are notorious down herefor our skulkers, and you--you who should be the one man to set them anexample, are as bad as they are. You deliberately encourage them."
Sir Henry abandoned his position by his wife's side, His face darkenedand his eyes flashed.
"Skulkers?" he repeated furiously.
Philippa looked at him without flinching.
"Yes! Don't you like the word?"
The angry flush faded from his cheeks as quickly as it had come. Helaughed a little unnaturally, took up a cigarette from an open box, andlit it.
"It isn't a pleasant one, is it, Philippa?" he observed, thrusting hishands into his jacket pockets strolling away. "If one doesn't feel thecall--well, there you are, you see. Jove, that's a fine fish."
He stood admiring the codling upon the scales. Philippa continued herwork.
"If you intend to spend the rest of the evening with us," she told himcalmly, "please let me remind you again that we have guests for dinner.Your present attire may be comfortable but it is scarcely becoming."
He turned away and came back towards her. As he passed the lamp, shestarted.
"Why, you're wet," she exclaimed, "wet through!"
"Of course I am," he admitted, feeling his sleeve, "but to tell you thetruth, in the interest of our conversation I had quite forgotten it.Here come our guests, before I have had time to escape. I can hear yourfriend Lessingham's voice."
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