CHAPTER XXVII.
Philippa and Helen looked at one another a little dolefully across the luncheon table.
"I supposes one misses the child," Helen said.
"I feel too depressed for words," Philippa admitted.
"A few days ago," Helen reminded her companion, "we were getting all the excitement that was good for any one." "And a little more," Philippa agreed.

"I don't know why things seem so flat now.

We really ought to be glad that nothing terrible has happened." "What with Henry and Mr.Lessingham both away," Helen continued, "and Captain Griffiths not coming near the place, we really have reverted to the normal, haven't we?
I wonder--if Mr.Lessingham has gone back." "I do not think so," Philippa murmured.
Helen frowned slightly.
"Personally," she said, with some emphasis, "I hope that he has." "If we are considering the personal point of view only," Philippa retorted, "I hope that he has not." Helen looked her disapproval.
"I should have thought that you had had enough playing with fire," she observed.
"One never has until one has burned one's fingers," Philippa sighed.
"I know perfectly well what is the matter with you," she continued severely.

"You are fretting because curried chicken is Dick's favourite dish." "I am not such a baby," Helen protested.

"All the same, it does make one think.