Part 11

"To two men," nodded her aunt. "I have never been so amused in my life. I always considered myself to be flighty, but I'll swear I never was engaged to two men at one and the same time!"

Cleone sat down, staring out of the window and biting her lips.

"What!" cried Sir Maurice in liveliest horror. "Engaged to two men? Cleone!"

The golden head was bowed. A great sob shook Cleone.

"But--good heavens, my dear! This is dreadful! How could such a thing have come to pass?"

"Of course it's dreadful," said her ladyship. "Think of the scandal when it is known. And that'll be soon, I'll wager. Brenderby will never keep such a piece of spice to himself." As she spoke, one of her eyelids flickered. Sir Maurice smiled, unseen by Cleone.

"You--forget, Aunt. I am going to--wed--Sir Deryk." A shudder ran through her at the thought.

"But I don't understand! Tell me how it happened, Cleone!"

"Yes, tell him, Clo. Mayhap he can help you."

"No one can help me," said Cleone miserably. "I must bear the pain of my own folly. I--oh, I have been so wicked!"

"Now, Cleone? Why? What happened?"

"I may as well tell you. It will be all over town by to-night--everyone will know me for a flirtatious, flighty woman. I--"

"You won't have a shred of reputation left," said her aunt maliciously.

Cleone started.

"Rep--Oh, and I said--!"

"Said what, my love?"

"Naught. I--I--oh, Sir Maurice, Sir Maurice, I am so unhappy!" Cleone burst into tears.

Sir Maurice patted one heaving shoulder.

"There, there, Cleone! Tell me all about it!"

"It--it was at the ball last n-night. I--I--no, first James proposed--to me, and I said yes, but I didn't mean it!"

"You said yes, but you didn't mean it?"

"I didn't hear what he said--I--I said yes because he worried so! And--and he knew I didn't mean it, for he walked away. Then I--I--went with Sir Deryk to a room apart--"

"Cle-one!"

"Oh, I know, I know! It was terrible of me, but I was so upset--I hardly cared what I did!"

"But why were you upset? Because James had proposed?"

"No--I--I--something--else--I can't tell you! Anyway--Sir Deryk took me to this room, and--and taught me to--to dice--yes, I know it was horrid! And--and I lost my rose to him, and when he--was taking it, he broke the string of my locket, and he wouldn't give it me, but said he must see what was inside, and I _couldn't_ let him! I _couldn't_!"

"What was inside?" asked Sir Maurice.

"For heaven's sake, don't ask her that!" begged Lady Malmerstoke. "It sets her off into floods of tears!"

"Aunt, _please_! And--and so I played him--for it--and I lost and had to--to kiss him--for it. Don't, don't look at me! And then--and then _he_ came--with James--and saw! What he must _think_ of me! And I said that he--Oh, he must--"

"Who is 'he'?" asked Sir Maurice innocently. He watched a tell-tale blush steal up under Cleone's fingers.

"Mr.--Mr. Jettan--I--he--saw me kiss--Sir Deryk! Then--then--I think, to spare me--Sir Deryk said I was his betrothed wife. I could not say I was not, could I? It was too dreadful! And Phil--Mr. Jettan congratulated us! But James suddenly said he was going to marry me because I had said yes to him--by mistake! Of course I said I was not, but he wouldn't release me from my word, and nor would Sir Deryk! Then--then he--Ph--I mean Mr. Jettan--just bowed and went away, but I could see what he--thought of--of me. Oh, what shall I do? Neither will let me go! I am betrothed to two gentlemen, and--oh, _what_ shall I do?"

Sir Maurice took a pinch of snuff. A smile hovered about his mouth. He shut the box with a snap.

"It seems, my dear, that the situation calls for a third gentleman," he said, and picked up his hat.

Cleone sprang to her feet.

"Oh--oh, what are you going to do?" she cried.

Sir Maurice walked to the door.

"It needs a masterful hand to extricate you from your delicate position," he said. "I go in search of such a hand."

Cleone ran to him, clasping his arm.

"No, no, no! Oh, for heaven's sake, Sir Maurice, stop!"

He laid a hand over her clutching fingers.

"My dear, do you want a scandal?"

"No, oh no! But I must persuade James!"

"And do you want to marry this Brenderby?"

"I--am going to marry him."

"Cleone, answer me! Do you want to marry him?"

"I don't want to marry anyone! I wish I were dead!"

"Well, child, you are not dead. I refuse to see you fall into Brenderby's clutches, and I refuse to countenance the scandal that would arise if you rejected him. I am too old to serve you, but I know of one who is not."

"Sir Maurice, I implore you, do not speak to him! You don't understand! You--Oh, stop, stop!"

Sir Maurice had disengaged himself. He opened the door.

"You need not fear that the third gentleman will cause you any annoyance, my dear. I can vouch for his discretion."

Cleone tried to hold him back.

"Sir Maurice, you don't understand! You must not ask Ph--your son to--to--help me! I--I didn't tell you all! I--Oh, come back!"

The door closed behind Sir Maurice.

"A very prompt, wise man," commented Lady Malmerstoke. "Now I am to be baulked of the scandal. Hey-dey!"

Cleone paced to and fro.

"I can't face him! I can't, I can't! What must he _think_ of me? What must he think? Aunt, you don't know all!"

"Oh, yes, I do," retorted her ladyship.

"No, no, you do not! Philip asked me to marry him--and--I refused! I--I--told him--I would not marry a man with a tarnished reputation! I--I said that--and worse! I accused him of trifling and--and--oh, it's too awful! That he should have been the one to see! How he must scorn me. Oh, Aunt, Aunt, can't you say something?"

"Ay, one thing. That you will have to be very humble to Master Philip. At least, he was never betrothed twice in one night."

Cleone collapsed on to the couch.

"I'll not see him! I--oh, I must go home at once! I must, I must! Everything is all my fault! I ought never to have--sent him away! And now--and now he despises me!"

"Who says so?"

"I--how could he do else? Don't--don't you realise how dreadful I have been? And--and his face--when--when he--heard everything! He'll never never believe--the truth!"

"What matters it?" asked my lady carelessly. "Since you do not love him--"

"Oh, I do, I do, I do!" wept Cleone.

* * * * *

François admitted Sir Maurice. His round face was perturbed. It cleared somewhat at the sight of Sir Maurice.

"_Ah, m'sieur, entrez donc!_ M'sieur Philippe he is like one mad!--He rage, he go up and down the room like a caged beast! It is a woman, without doubt it is a woman! I have known it _depuis longtemps_! Something terrible has happened! M'sieur is _hors de lui-même_!"

Sir Maurice laughed.

"Poor François! I go to reassure m'sieur."

"Ah, if m'sieur can do that!"

"I can--most effectively. Where is he?"

François pointed to the library door.

* * * * *

Philip literally pounced on his father.

"Well? You have seen her? Is she in love with Brenderby? Is she to wed him? What did she tell you?"

Sir Maurice pushed him away.

"You are the second distracted lover who has clutched me to-day. Have done."

Philip danced with impatience.

"But speak, Father! Speak!"

Sir Maurice sat down leisurely and crossed his legs.

"At the present moment Cleone is betrothed. Very much so," he added, chuckling. "I am about to put the whole matter into your hands."

"My hands? She wants my help?"

"Not at all. She is insistent that you shall not be appealed to. In fact, she was almost frantic when I suggested it."

"Then does she not want to marry Brenderby?"

"Certainly not. But she will do if you fail to intervene."

Philip flung out his hands.

"But tell me, sir! What happened last night?"

"Sit down and be quiet," said Sir Maurice severely. "I am on the point of telling you."

Philip obeyed meekly.

"And don't interrupt." Sir Maurice proceeded to relate all that he had heard from Cleone.... "And she was so upset that she went with Brenderby, not caring what happened. That is the whole story," he ended.

"Upset? But--was she upset--because I had offered and been rejected?"

"Presumably. Now she is so hopelessly compromised that she daren't face you."

Philip sank his head into his hands and gave way to a long peal of laughter.

"_Sacré nom de Dieu_, the tables are turned, indeed. Oh, Clo, Clo, you wicked little hussy! And what was in that locket?"

"That you will have to ask her yourself," answered Sir Maurice.

Philip jumped up.

"And I shall. _Mordieu_, never did I dream of such a solution to my difficulties!"

"Perhaps she still will not have you, Philip," warned Sir Maurice.

Philip flung back his head.

"Thunder of God, she will have me now if I have to force her to the altar! _Ciel_, you have taken a load off my mind, sir! I thought she cared for Brenderby! She smiled on him so consistently. And now for _ce cher_ Brenderby! I am going to enjoy myself."

"Remember, Philip! No breath of scandal!"

"Am I so clumsy? Not a whisper shall there be! François, François! My hat, my cloak, my boots, and my SWORD!"

Eighteen

Philip Takes Charge of the Situation

Sir Deryk's valet came to him, bowing.

"There is a gentleman below who desires speech with you, sir."

"Oh? Who is he?"

"Mr. Philip Jettan, sir."

Sir Deryk raised his eyebrows.

"Jettan? What can he want with me? Ay, I'll come." He rose and went languidly downstairs. "This is an unexpected honour, Jettan! Come in!" He led Philip into a large room. "Is it a mere friendly visit?"

"Anything but that," said Philip. "I have come to tell you that you will not be able to wed Mistress Cleone Charteris."

"Oh?" Brenderby laughed. "Why do you say that?"

"Because," Philip smiled a little, "I am going to wed her myself."

"You? Oh, Gad, you make the third!"

"And there is, as you know, luck in odd numbers. Are you satisfied?"

"Satisfied? Damme, no! The girl's lovely! I've a mind to her."

"Even though I tell you that she desires to be released?"

"Even though she told it me herself!"

"I trust you will allow me to persuade you?" Philip patted his sword-hilt lovingly.

A light sprang to Brenderby's eyes.

"Is it a fight you're wanting? By Gad, no man has ever had need to challenge me twice! Here? Now? Help me push the table back!"

"One moment! You love a hazard, I think? I fight you for the right to wed Mistress Cleone. If I win you relinquish all claim upon her, and you swear never to breathe a word of what passed last night. If you win--oh, if you win, you do as you please!"

"Ay, aught you will! I've been pining for a fight for many a long day. You're a man after my heart, stap me if you're not! Here, wait while I fetch my sword!" He hurried out of the room, returning in a very short time with a rapier. "I've told my man that you have come to fence with me. But we'll lock the door in case of accidents. How does my sword measure with yours?"

Philip compared them.

"Very well." His eyes danced suddenly. "_Dieu!_ I never thought to fight so strange a duel!" He pulled off his boots. "We'll fight in wigs, yes? One is so displeasing without a hair to one's head."

"A dozen, if you like!" Brenderby struggled out of his coat and vest. "You know, you are shorter than I am. We're not fair matched."

Philip laughed, tucking up his ruffles.

"No matter. You see, I must win!"

"Why?" Brenderby made an imaginary pass in the air.

"So much depends on it," explained Philip. "Is the light fair to both?"

"Fair enough," said Brenderby.

"You are ready, then? _Eh bien!_"

The blades met and hissed together.

Opening in quarte, Brenderby seemed at first to be the better of the two. Philip stayed on the defensive, parrying deftly and allowing Brenderby to expend his energies. Once Brenderby's blade flashed out and all but pinked Philip, but he managed to recover his opposition in time. His eyes opened wider; he became more cautious. Suddenly he descried an opening and lunged forward. There was a moment's scuffle, and Brenderby put the murderous point aside. Then Philip seemed to quicken. When Brenderby began to pant, Philip changed his tactics, and gave back thrust for thrust. His wrist was like flexible steel; his footwork was superb; the whole style of his fencing was different from that of Brenderby.

All at once Brenderby saw an opening. He thrust in quinte, steel scraped against steel, and Philip's point flashed into his right arm above the elbow.

Brenderby staggered back, clutched at his arm, and tried to raise his sword again. But Philip was at his side, supporting him.

"It's only a flesh wound--painful now--_bien sûr_. It will--heal quickly. I do not--mistake," he gasped.

"Damme--I'm not done for--yet!"

"But yes! I fight--no more. You cannot--keep your blade--steady--now! Sit down!" He lowered Brenderby into a chair, and whisked out his handkerchief. He bound up Sir Deryk's wound and fetched him a glass of wine from a decanter on the sideboard.

"Thanks!" Sir Deryk gulped it down. "But where are my manners? Pour some for yourself, Jettan! Gad, but you pinked me neatly!" He seemed to slip back into his habitual drawl. "As pretty a piece of sword-play as I wish to see. But you fence French-fashion."

Philip drank some wine.

"Yes. It was at Paris that I learned. With Guillaume Corvoisier."

"No!" Brenderby heaved himself up. "Corvoisier, forsooth! No wonder you're so quick!"

Philip smiled and bowed.

"You frightened me more than once, sir."

"Faith, it wasn't apparent then! You were so intent on winning?"

"It means so much, you see," said Philip simply. "My whole life's happiness."

"What! You really intend to wed Cleone?"

Again Philip bowed.

"I have always intended to wed her."

"You?" Brenderby stared. "I never knew that! What of that young sprig Winton?"

"Oh, I think I can persuade James!"

"Like this?" Brenderby glanced down at his arm.

"No, not like that. Tell me, sir, did you intend to wed Mademoiselle?"

"Heaven forbid! I've no mind to tie myself up yet awhile. Your entrance last night forced me to say what I did to spare the lady's blushes. I'd no notion of continuing the comedy, until young Winton thrust in with his prior claim. Gad, but 'twas amusing! Did you not find it so?"

"I? No. But I was closely concerned in the affair, you see. I may take it that you will say naught of last night's work?"

"Of course not. 'Twas a mad jest, but I'd not let it go so far as to damage a lady's reputation. And you may tell Mistress Cleone that I apologise--for what happened before. She's too damnably beautiful."

Philip worked himself into his coat.

"'Damnably' is not the word I should employ, but _n'importe_." He sat down and started to pull on his boots. "I have enjoyed myself. I said I should."

"Tare an' 'ouns, so have I! It's an age since I've had a sword in my hand. I am indebted to you, sir."

"Yes, you are out of practice. I thank the kind fates for that!"

"Ay, I'd have kept you at it longer, but I don't know that the issue would have been different. You must go?"

Philip picked up his hat.

"I must. I have to thank you for--"

"Oh, stuff! I'd no notion of holding Cleone to her promise, but I could not resist the offer of a fight. I wish you could see how monstrous amusing it was, though!"

Philip laughed.

"Had it been anyone but Cleone I might have been able to appreciate the humour of the situation! I trust the wound will heal quickly."

"Oh, that's naught! A mere prick, but I was winded. Fare ye well, Jettan. My felicitations! You felicitated me last night, did you not?" He laughed.

"With black murder in my heart!" nodded Philip. "I do not say good bye, but _au revoir_!"

"Here's my hand on it then--my left hand, alack!"

Philip grasped it. Brenderby accompanied him to the front door and waved to him as he ran down the steps.

"_Bonne chance_, as you'd say yourself! _Au 'voir!_"

Philip waved back at him and turned to hail a passing chair. He instructed the bearers to carry him to Jermyn Street.

It seemed that the luck was indeed with him, for he arrived just as James was descending the steps of his house. Philip sprang out, paid the chairmen, and took Winton's arm.

"My friend, a word with you!"

"Yes?" said James. "You seem excited, Philip."

"It's what I am, then. I've come to speak to you of Cleone."

James stiffened.

"I'll not give her up to that fellow Brenderby!" he said fiercely. "It's more than flesh and blood can bear."

"Assuredly. But will you give her up to me?"

James turned to stare at him.

"You? But she is to wed Brenderby!"

"Ah, but no! that is at an end. Brenderby releases her. He is not so bad a man as you think. _En effet_, I like him."

"I loathe the sight of him, drawling fop!"

"To-day I have seen him in another light. But that is not what I have to say. Cleone does not wish to marry you, _mon enfant_, and it is churlish to persist."

"I know she'll never marry me," answered James gloomily. "I only held her to her word because I thought she'd have Brenderby if I did not."

"I understand. You'll release her--for me?"

"I suppose so. Why did you say naught last night?"

"There were reasons. They no longer exist. Come, Jamie, don't look so glum! You are young yet."

"It's easy to say that. Oh, I knew I never had a chance with her! I congratulate you, Philip."

Philip pressed his arm.

"My thanks. You're very generous! And now I must fly!"

"Where? May I accompany you?"

"Again many thanks, but no! I have an engagement. _Au revoir, mon cher!_"

Nineteen

Philip Justifies His Chin

Once more Lady Malmerstoke's page went up to the boudoir.

"Mistah Philip Jettan is below, m'lady!"

Up started Cleone.

"I will not see him! Aunt Sarah, I beg you will go to him! Please spare me this--humiliation!"

Lady Malmerstoke waved her aside.

"Admit him, Sambo. Yes, here. Cleone, control yourself!"

"I can't see him! I can't! I can't! How _can_ I face him?"

"Turn your back, then," said her unsympathetic aunt. "I wonder what he has done?"

"D-do you think he--could have--arranged everything?" asked Cleone, with a gleam of hope.

"From what I have seen of him, I should say yes. A masterful young man, my dear. Else why that chin?" She moved to the door. Philip came in, immaculate as ever. "Ah, Philip!"

Philip shot a look past her. Cleone had fled to the window. He bent and kissed Lady Malmerstoke's hand.

"_Bonjour, madame!_" He held open the door and bowed.

Her ladyship laughed.

"What! Turning me from my own boudoir?"

"If you please, madame."

"Aunt--Sarah!" The whisper came from the window.

Philip smiled faintly.

"Madame...."

"Oh, that chin!" said her ladyship, and patted it. She went out and Philip closed the door behind her.

Cleone's fingers clasped one another desperately. Her heart seemed to have jumped into her throat. It almost choked her. She dared not look round. She heard the rustle of Philip's coat-skirts. Never, never had she felt so ashamed, or so frightened.

"Your devoted servant, mademoiselle!"

Cleone could not speak. She stood where she was, trembling uncontrollably.

"I have the honour of informing you, mademoiselle, that you are released from your engagements."

Was there a note of laughter in the prim voice?

"I--thank you--sir," whispered Cleone. Her teeth clenched in an effort to keep back the tears. She was blinded by them, and her bosom was heaving.

There was a slight pause. Why did he not go? Did he wish to see her still more humiliated?

"I have also to offer, on Sir Deryk's behalf, his apologies for the happenings of last night, mademoiselle."

"Th--thank--you, sir."

Again the nerve-killing silence. If only he would go before she broke down!

"Cleone...." said Philip gently.

The tears were running down her cheeks, but she kept her head turned away.

"Please--go!" she begged huskily.

He was coming across the room towards her.... Cleone gripped her hands.

"Cleone ... dearest!"

A heartbroken sob betrayed her. Philip took her in his arms.

"My sweetheart! Crying? Oh no, no! There is naught now to distress you."

The feel of his arms about her was sheer bliss; their strength was like a haven of refuge. Yet Cleone tried to thrust him away.

"What--must you--think of me!" she sobbed.

He drew her closer, till her head rested against his shoulder.

"Why, that you are a dear, foolish, naughty little Cleone. _Chérie_, don't cry. It is only your Philip--your own Philip, who has always loved you, and only you. Look up, my darling, look up!"

Cleone gave way to the insistence of his arms.

"Oh, Philip--forgive me!" she wept. "I have--been mad!" She raised her head and Philips arms tightened still more. He bent over her and kissed her parted lips almost fiercely.

* * * * *

Later, seated beside him on the couch, her head on his shoulder, and his arm about her, Cleone gave a great sigh.

"But why--why did you treat me so--hatefully--when you--came back, Philip?"

"I was hurt, darling, and wished to see whether you wanted the real me--or a painted puppet. But then you changed suddenly--and I knew not what to think."

Cleone nestled closer.

"Because I thought you--did not care! But oh, Philip, Philip, I have been so unhappy!"

Philip promptly kissed her.

"And--last night--Philip, you don't think I--"

"Sweetheart! Is it likely that I'd believe ill of you?"

She hid her face.

"I--I believed--ill--of you," she whispered.

"But you do not believe it now, sweetheart?"

"No, oh no! But--but--that duel with Mr. Bancroft. Was it--was it--some--French lady?"

Philip was silent for a moment.

"No, Cleone. That is all I can say."

"Was it"--her voice was breathless--"was it--me?"

Philip did not answer.

"It was! How wonderful!"

Philip was startled.

"You are pleased, Cleone? Pleased?"

"Of course I am! I--oo!" She gave a little wriggle of delight. "Why did you not tell me?"

"It is not--one of the things one tells one's lady-love," said Philip.

"Oh! And to-day? How did you--persuade Sir Deryk?"

"Through the arm. But he had no intention of holding you to your word."

Cleone grew rather rigid.

"Oh--indeed? In-deed?"

Philip was mystified.

"You did not want to be held to it, did you, _chérie_?"

"N-no. But--I don't like him, Philip."

"I did not, I confess. I think I do now."

"Do you? And what of James?"

"Oh, James! He will recover."

There was a pause while Cleone digested this.

"Philip?"

"Cleone?"

"You--you--don't care for Jenny, do you?"

"Jenny? Cleone, for shame! Because I was polite--"

"More than that, Philip!"

"Well, dearest, no one paid any heed to her or was kind. What would you?"

"It was only that? I thought--I thought--"

"Cleone, you think too much," he chided her. "Next you will accuse me of loving Ann Nutley!" It was a master-stroke, and he knew it.

"You didn't? Not a tiny bit?"

"Not an atom!"

"And no one--in Paris?"

"No one. I have pretended, but they all knew that I had already lost my heart."

"You pretended?... Oh!"

"One must, sweetest."

"But--"

He drew her closer.

"But never, most beautiful, did I become engaged--twice in one evening!" He stifled the cry that rose to her lips.

"Philip, that is ungallant, and--and hateful!"

He laughed.

"Is it not? Ah, Cleone! Tell me, my dearest, what is in your locket?"

"Something I meant to burn," she murmured.

"But did not?"

"No--I could not." She fumbled at her bosom and drew out the trinket. "See for yourself, Philip."

He opened it. A rolled lock of brown hair fell out and a torn scrap of parchment. Philip turned it over.

"Yours till death, Philip," he read. "Cleone, my love."

She buried her face on his shoulder.

"Your--hair--your poor hair!" she said.

"All gone! Look up, Cleone!"

She lifted her face. He gazed down at her, rapt.

"Oh, Cleone--I shall write a sonnet to your wonderful eyes!" he breathed.

Twenty

Mademoiselle de Chaucheron Rings Down the Curtain

Sir Maurice Jettan stood in the withdrawing-room of the Hotel Cleone and studied himself in the glass. He smiled a little and straightened his shoulders.