Philippa laid down her knitting. She looked searchingly into her
husband's face. She was very far from indifferent to his altered tone.

"Henry," she said, "that sounds very terrible, but why do you run such
risks--unworthily? Do you think that I couldn't give you all that you
want, all that I have to give, if you came home to me with a story
like this and I knew that you had been facing death righteously and
honourably for your country's sake? Why, Henry, there isn't a man in the
world could have such a welcome as I could give you. Do you think I am
cold? Of course you don't! Do you think I want to feel as I have done
this last fortnight towards you? Why, it's misery! It makes me feel
inclined 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 of
one who is on the eve of a confession.

"Philippa," he began, "you know that when I go out on these fishing
expeditions, I also put in some work at the new chart which I am so
anxious to prepare for the fishermen."

Philippa shook her head impatiently.

"Don't talk to me about your fishermen, Henry! I'm as sick with them
as I am with you. You can see twenty or thirty of them any morning,
lounging about the quay, strapping young fellows who shelter themselves
behind the plea of privileged employment. We are notorious down here
for our skulkers, and you--you who should be the one man to set them an
example, are as bad as they are. You deliberately encourage them."

Sir Henry abandoned his position by his wife's side, His face darkened
and 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. He
laughed a little unnaturally, took up a cigarette from an open box, and
lit it.

"It isn't a pleasant one, is it, Philippa?" he observed, thrusting his
hands into his jacket pockets strolling away. "If one doesn't feel the
call--well, there you are, you see. Jove, that's a fine fish."

He stood admiring the codling upon the scales. Philippa continued her
work.

"If you intend to spend the rest of the evening with us," she told him
calmly, "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, she
started.

"Why,