Philippa moved a little uneasily.
“How hatefully downright you are!” she murmured. “I don't know.”
“Because,” Helen continued, “if you have any such idea in your mind, I think it is most unfair to Mr. Lessingham. You know perfectly well that anything else between you and him would be impossible.”
“And why?”
“Don't be ridiculous!” Helen exclaimed vigorously. “Mr. Lessingham may have all the most delightful qualities in the world, but he has attached himself to a country which no English man or woman will be able to think of without shuddering, for many years to come. You can't dream of cutting yourself adrift from your friends and your home and your country! It's too unnatural! I'm not even arguing with you, Philippa. You couldn't do it! I'm wholly concerned with Mr. Lessingham. I cannot forget what we owe him. I think it would be hatefully cruel of you to spoil his life.”
Philippa's flashes of seriousness were only momentary. She made a little grimace. She was once more her natural, irresponsible self.
“You underrate my charm, Helen,” she declared. “I really believe that I could make his life instead of spoiling it.”
“And you would pay the price?”
Philippa, slim and elflike in the firelight, rose from her chair. There was a momentary cruelty in her face.
“I sometimes think,” she said calmly, “that I would pay any price in the world to make Henry understand how I feel. There, now run along, dear. You're full of good intentions, and don't think it horrid of me, but nothing that you could say would make any difference.”