Part 9

Thomas bowed very low.

"Well, Sally?"

"That's not polite," she said. "You can see I am very well. I declare you are growing thinner!"

Thomas drew himself up sheepishly.

"Am I, my dear?"

Her ladyship gave a little crow of delight.

"You've been taking exercise!" she exclaimed. "If you continue at this rate--I vow I'll marry you in a month!"

"I wish you would, my dear," said Tom seriously.

"Oh, I shall one day, never fear!" She caught sight of Jennifer's astonished expression and chuckled. "Now, Tom, behave yourself! You are shocking the child!" she whispered.

"I? What have I done? She's shocked at your forwardness!"

Sir Maurice had walked over to Cleone. She held out her hands, and he made as if to kiss them. She snatched them back.

"Oh, no, no!" she cried. "Sir Maurice!"

He smiled down at her upturned face.

"In truth, my dear, you've so changed from the little Cleone I know that I dare take no liberties."

Her mouth quivered suddenly; she caught at the lapels of his coat.

"No, no, don't say it, sir! I am the same! Oh, I am, I am!"

"What's Cleone doing?" inquired Lady Malmerstoke. "Kissing Maurice? Now who's forward?"

Cleone smiled through her tears.

"You are, Aunt Sally. And you are in a very teasing humour!"

Sir Maurice pressed her hands gently. He turned to the curtseying Jennifer.

"Why, Jenny? This is a surprise! How are you, child?"

"Very well, I thank you, sir," she answered. "Very happy to be in London."

"The first visit! Where are you staying?"

"With Grandmamma, out at Kensington," she said.

Lady Malmerstoke clutched Tom's arm.

"Kensington, poor child!" she murmured. "For heaven's sake everyone sit down! No, Maurice, that chair is too low for me. I'll take the couch." She proceeded to do so. As a matter of course, Tom sat down beside her. The others arranged themselves in two pairs, Sir Maurice leading Jennifer to a chair near the fire, and Cleone going to the window-seat with the admiring James.

Five minutes later the bell rang for the third time, and Jennifer received the worst shock of the afternoon. The page announced Mr. Philip Jettan, and Philip came into the room.

Sir Maurice felt Jennifer's start of surprise, and saw her stare past him as though she saw at least three ghosts.

Philip went to his hostess and dropped on one knee to kiss her hand. He was dressed in puce and old gold. Jennifer thought she had never seen anything so gorgeous, or so astonishing. She did not believe for a moment that it was her old playfellow, Philip.

"Madame, I am late!" said Philip. "I ask a thousand pardons."

"And you are sure you'll receive them!" chuckled her ladyship. "I'd give them, but that it would fatigue me so. Where's that ode? Don't tell me you've forgotten it!"

"Forgotten it! Never! It is a very beautiful ode, too, in my best style. _Le voici!_" He handed her a rolled parchment sheet, tied with mauve ribbons, and with violets cunningly inserted.

"You delightful boy!" cried her ladyship, inspecting it. "Violets! How did you know they were my favourite flowers?"

"I knew instinctively," answered Philip solemnly.

"Of course you did! But how charming of you! I declare I daren't untie it till the violets are dead. Look, Tom, is it not pretty? And isn't Philip sweet to write me an ode?"

"I am looking," said Tom gloomily. "Ye rascal, how dare you try to steal my lady's heart away from me?"

"I should be more than human an I did not!" replied Philip promptly.

Lady Malmerstoke was showing the dainty roll to Sir Maurice.

"An ode to my wig," she told him. "Written in French."

"An ode to your what?" asked Thomas.

"My wig, Tom, my wig! You were not here when we discussed it. Cleone thought it a prodigious ugly wig, but Philip would have none of it. He said such pretty things about it, and promised me an ode for it! Philip, did I thank you?"

Philip was bowing over Cleone's hand. He turned.

"With your eyes, madame, eloquently! But I need no thanks; it was an honour and a joy."

"Think of that!" nodded my lady, looking from Tom to Sir Maurice. "Philip, come and be presented to Mistress Jennifer. Or do you know her?"

Philip released Cleone's hand, and swung round.

"Jennifer! Of course I know her!" He went across the room. "Why, Jenny, where do you spring from? How are you?"

Jennifer gazed up at him with wide eyes.

"Philip? Is--is it really--you?" she whispered.

"You didn't know me? Jenny, how unkind! Surely I haven't changed as much as that?"

"Y-you have," she averred. "More!"

"I have not, I swear I have not! Father, go away! Let me sit here and talk to Jennifer!"

Only too glad to obey, Sir Maurice rose.

"He is very peremptory and autocratic, isn't he, my dear?" he smiled.

Philip sank into the vacated chair.

"I--I feel I ought to call you Mr. Jettan!" said Jennifer.

"Jenny! If you dare to do such a thing I shall--I shall--"

"What will you do?"

"Write a canzonet to your big eyes!" he laughed.

Jennifer blushed, and her lips trembled into a smile.

"Will you really? I should like that, I think, Mr. Jettan."

"It shall be ready by noon to-morrow," said Philip at once, "if you will promise not to misname me!"

"But--"

"Jenny, I vow I have not changed so much! 'Tis only my silly clothes!"

"That's--what Clo said when I told her _she_ had changed."

"Oh!" Philip shot a glance towards the unconscious Cleone. "Did she say that?"

"Yes. But I think she has changed, don't you?"

"_De tête en pieds_," said Philip slowly.

"What is that?" Jennifer looked rather alarmed.

Philip turned back to her.

"That is a foolish habit, Jenny. They say I chatter French all day. Which is very affected."

"French? Do you talk French now? How wonderful!" breathed Jennifer. "Say something else! Please!"

"_La lumière de tes beaux yeux me pénètre jusqu'au c[oe]ur._" He bowed, smiling.

"Oh! What does that mean?"

"It wouldn't be good for you to know," answered Philip gravely.

"Oh! but I would like to know, I think," she said naïvely.

"I said that--you have very beautiful eyes."

"Did you? How--how dreadful of you! And you won't forget the--the can--can--what you were going to write for me, will you?"

"The canzonet. No, I think it must be a sonnet. And the flower--alas, your flower is out of season!"

"Is it? What is my flower?"

"A daisy."

She considered this.

"I do not like daisies very much. Haven't I another flower?"

"Yes, a snowdrop."

"Oh, that is pretty!" She clapped her hands. "Is it too late for snowdrops?"

"I defy it to be too late!" said Philip. "You shall have them if I have to fly to the ends of the earth for them!"

Jennifer giggled.

"But you couldn't, could you? Cleone! Cleone!"

Cleone came across the room.

"Yes, Jenny? Has Mr. Jettan been saying dreadfully flattering things to you?"

"N--yes, I think he has! And he says I must still call him Philip. And oh! he is going to write a--a sonnet to my eyes, tied with snowdrops! Mr. J--Philip, what is Cleone's flower?"

Philip had risen. He put a chair forward for Cleone.

"Can you ask, Jenny? What but a rose?"

Cleone sat down. Her lips smiled steadily.

"A rose? Surely it's a flaunting flower, sir?"

"Ah, mademoiselle, it must be that you have never seen a rose just bursting from the bud!"

"Oh, la! I am overcome, sir! And I have not yet thanked you for the bouquet you sent me this morning!"

Philip's eyes travelled to the violets at her breast.

"I did not send violets," he said mournfully.

Cleone's eyes flashed.

"No. These"--she touched the flowers caressingly--"I have from Sir Deryk Brenderby."

"He is very fortunate, mademoiselle. Would that I were also!"

"I think you are, sir. Mistress Ann Nutley wore your carnations yesterday the whole evening." Cleone found that she was looking straight into his eyes. Hurriedly she looked away, but a pulse was beating in her throat. For one fleeting instant she had seen the old Philip, grave, honest, a little appealing. If only--if only--

"Mr. Jett--I mean Philip! Will you teach me to say something in French?"

"Why, of course, _chérie_. What would you say?"

The pulse stopped its excited beating; the blue eyes lost their wistful softness. Cleone turned to James, who stood at her elbow.

Fifteen

Lady Malmerstoke on Husbands

"And he brought it himself, yesterday morning, tied with snowdrops. I don't know how he got them, for they are over, are they not, Clo? But there they were, with the prettiest verse you can imagine. It said my eyes were twin pools of grey! Isn't that beautiful?"

Cleone jerked one shoulder.

"It is not very original," she said.

"Don't you like it?" asked Jennifer reproachfully.

Cleone was ashamed of her flash of ill-humour.

"Yes, dear, of course I do. So Mr. Jettan brought it to you himself, did he?"

"Indeed, yes! And stayed a full hour, talking to Papa and to me. What do you think? He has begged me to be sure and dance with him on Wednesday! Is it not kind of him?"

"Very," said Cleone dully.

"I cannot imagine why he should want them," Jennifer prattled on. "Jamie says he is at Mistress Nutley's feet. Is she very lovely, Clo?"

"I don't know. Yes, I suppose she is."

"Philip is teaching me to speak French. It is so droll, and he laughs at my accent. Can you speak French, Clo?"

"A little. No doubt he would laugh at my accent if he ever heard it."

"Oh, I do not think so! He could not, could he? Clo, I asked if he did not think you were very beautiful, and he said--"

"Jenny, you must not ask things like that!"

"He did not mind! Truly, he did not! He just laughed--he is always laughing, Clo!--and said that there was no one who did not think so. Was not that neat?"

"Very," said Cleone.

Jennifer drew nearer.

"Cleone, may I tell you a secret?"

A fierce pain shot through Cleone.

"A secret? What is it?" she asked quickly.

"Why, Clo, how strange you look! 'Tis only that I know James to be in love with--you!"

Cleone sank back. She started to laugh from sheer relief.

"I do not see that it is funny," said Jennifer, hurt.

"No, no, dear! It--it is not that--I mean, of course, of course, I knew that James was--was--fond of me."

"Did you? Oh--oh, are you going to marry him?" Jennifer's voice squeaked with excitement.

"Jenny, you ask such dreadful questions! No, I am not."

"But--but he loves you, Clo! Don't you love him?"

"Not like that. James only thinks he loves me. He's too young. I--Tell me about your dress, dear!"

"For the ball?" Jennifer sat up, nothing loth. "'Tis of white silk--"

"Sir Deryk Brenderby!"

Jennifer started.

"Oh, dear!" she said regretfully.

A tall, loose-limbed man came in.

"Fair Mistress Cleone! I am happy, indeed, to have found you in! I kiss your hands, dear lady!"

Cleone drew them away, smiling.

"Mistress Jennifer Winton, Sir Deryk."

Brenderby seemed to become suddenly aware of Jenny's presence. He bowed. Jennifer curtseyed demurely, and took refuge behind her friend.

Sir Deryk lowered himself into a chair.

"Mistress Cleone, can you guess why I have come?"

"To see me!" said Cleone archly.

"That is the obvious, fair tormentor! Another reason had I."

"The first should be enough, sir," answered Cleone, with downcast eyes.

"And is, Most Beautiful. But the other reason concerns you also."

"La! You intrigue me, sir! Pray, what is it?"

"To beg, on my knees, that you will dance with me on Wednesday!"

"Oh, I don't know!" Cleone shook her head. "I doubt all the dances are gone."

"Ah, no, dearest lady! Not all!"

"Indeed, I think so! I cannot promise anything."

"But you give me hope?"

"I will not take it from you," said Cleone. "Perhaps Jennifer will give you a dance."

Sir Deryk did not look much elated. But he bowed to Jennifer.

"May that happiness be mine, madam?"

"Th--thank you," stammered Jennifer. "If you please!"

Sir Deryk bowed again and straightway forgot her existence.

"You wear my primroses, fairest!" he said to Cleone. "I scarce dared to hope so modest a posy would be so honoured."

Cleone glanced down at the pale yellow blooms.

"Oh, are they yours? I had forgot," she said cruelly.

"Ah, Cleone!"

Cleone raised her brows.

"My name, sir?"

"Mistress Cleone," corrected Brenderby, bowing.

Lady Malmerstoke chose that moment at which to billow into the room. She leaned on the arm of one Mr. Jettan.

"Philip, you are a sad fellow! You do not mean one word of what you say! Oh, lud! I have chanced on a reception. Give ye good den, Jenny, my dear. Sir Deryk? Thus early in the morning? I think you know Mr. Jettan?"

The two men bowed.

"I have the pleasure, Lady Malmerstoke," said Brenderby. "I did not see you last night, Jettan? You were not at Gregory's card-party?"

"Last night?--last night? No, I was at White's with my father. Mademoiselle, your very obedient! _Et la petite!_"

"_Bonjour, monsieur!_" ventured Jennifer shyly.

Philip swept her a leg.

"_Mademoiselle a fait des grands progrès_," he said.

She wrinkled her brow.

"Great--progress?" she hazarded.

"Of course! And how is mademoiselle?"

"Very well, I thank you, sir."

Lady Malmerstoke sank into a large armchair.

"Well, I trust I don't intrude?" she remarked. "Clo, where is my embroidery?" She turned to her guests. "I never set a stitch, of course. It would fatigue me too much. But it looks industrious to have it by me, doesn't it?"

Cleone and Brenderby had walked to the table in search of the missing embroidery. Cleone looked over her shoulder.

"You must not believe what she says," she told them. "Aunt Sarah embroiders beautifully. She is not nearly as lazy as she would have you think."

"Not lazy, my love--indolent. A much nicer word. Thank you, my dear." She received her stitchery and laid it down. "I will tell you all a secret. Oh, Philip knows! Philip, you need not listen."

Philip was perched on a chair-arm.

"A million thanks, Aunt!"

"That is very unkind of you!" she reproached him. "You tell my secret before ever I have time to say a word!"

"_Eh bien!_ You should not have suggested that I did not want to listen to your voice."

"When I am, indeed, your aunt, I shall talk to you very seriously about flattering old women," she said severely.

Cleone clapped her hands.

"Oh, Aunt Sally! You are going to wed Mr. Jettan?"

"One of them," nodded her aunt. "I gather that this one"--she smiled up at Philip--"is going to wed Someone Else. And I do not think I would have him in any case."

"And now who is unkind?" cried Philip. "I've a mind to run away with you as you enter the church!"

Cold fear was stealing through Cleone. Mechanically she congratulated her aunt. Through a haze she heard Brenderby's voice and Jennifer's. So Philip was going to marry Someone Else? No doubt it was Ann Nutley, the designing minx!

When Philip came presently to her side she was gayer than ever, sparkling with merriment, and seemingly without a care in the world. She drew Sir Deryk into the conversation, flirting outrageously. She parried all Philip's sallies and laughed at Sir Deryk's witticisms. Then Philip went to talk to Jennifer. A pair of hungry, angry, jealous, and would-be careless blue eyes followed him and grew almost hard.

When the guests had gone Cleone felt as though her head were full of fire. Her cheeks burned, her eyes were glittering. Lady Malmerstoke looked at her.

"You are hot, my love. Open the window."

Cleone obeyed, cooling her cheeks against the glass panes.

"How very shy that child is!" remarked my lady.

"Jenny? Yes. Very, is she not?"

"I thought Sir Deryk might have noticed her a little more than he did."

"He had no chance, had he? She was quite monopolised."

Her ladyship cast a shrewd glance towards the back of Cleone's head. She smiled unseen.

"Well, my love, to turn to other matters, which is it to be--Philip or Sir Deryk?"

Cleone started.

"What do you mean, Aunt? Which is it to _be_?"

"Which are you going to smile upon? You have given both a deal of encouragement. I don't count young James, of course. He's a babe."

"Please, please--"

"I don't like Sir Deryk. No, I don't like him at all. He has no true politeness, or he would have talked a little more to me, or to Jenny. Which do you intend to wed, my dear?"

"Neither?"

"My dear Cleone!" Her ladyship was shocked. "Then why do you encourage them to make love to you? Now be advised by me! Have Sir Deryk!"

Cleone gave a trembling laugh.

"I thought you did not like him?"

"No more I do. But that's not to say he'd make a bad husband. On the contrary. He'd let you do as you please, and he'd not be for ever pestering you with his presence."

"For these very reasons I'll none of him!"

"Then that leaves Philip?"

Cleone whirled about.

"Whom I would not marry were he the last man in the world!"

"Luckily he is not. Don't be so violent, my dear."

Cleone stood for a moment, irresolute. Then she burst into tears and ran out of the room.

Lady Malmerstoke leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes.

"There's hope for you yet, Philip," she remarked, and prepared to go to sleep. It was not to be. Barely five minutes later Sir Maurice was ushered into the room.

Her ladyship sat up, a hand to her wig.

"Really, Maurice, you should know better than to take a woman unawares!" she said severely. "Your family has been in and out the house all the morning. What's the matter now?"

Sir Maurice kissed her hand.

"First, my heartiest congratulations, Sarah! I have just seen Tom."

If a lady could grin, Sarah Malmerstoke grinned then.

"Thank you, Maurice. And how did you find Tom?"

"Quite incoherent," said Sir Maurice. "He has talked a deal of nonsense about love-passions belonging only to the young, but I never saw a man so madly elated in my life."

"How nice!" sighed my lady blissfully. "And what's your second point?"

Sir Maurice walked to the fire and stared into it.

"Sally, it's Cleone."

"Dear me! What's to do?"

"If anyone can help me, it's you," he began.

Her ladyship held up her hands.

"No, Maurice, no! You're too old!"

"You ridiculous woman!" He smiled a little. "Does she care for Philip, or does she not?"

"Well"--my lady bit her finger--"I've been asking her that question, or one like it, myself."

"What did she say?"

"That she wouldn't marry him were he the last man in the world."

Sir Maurice looked at her wretchedly.

"What's come over her? I thought--She said nothing more?"

"Not a word. She burst into tears and fled."

His face brightened.

"Surely that augurs well for him?"

"Very well," nodded my lady. "But--"

"But what? Tell me, Sally!"

"You're very anxious," she observed.

"Of course I am anxious! I tell you Philip is head over ears in love with the child! And she--"

"And she," finished her ladyship deliberately, "will need a deal of convincing that it is so. We are told that Philip is in love with Ann Nutley. We know that Philip trifled elegantly with various French ladies. We see him being kind to little Jennifer. And so on."

"But he means nothing! You know that!"

"I? Does it matter what I know? It is what Cleone knows, but there's naught under the sun so unreasonable as a maid in love."

"But if Philip assures her--"

"Pho!" said her ladyship, and snapped her fingers. "Pho!"

"She wouldn't believe it?"

"She might. But she might not choose to show it."

"But it's ridiculous! It's--"

"Of course. All girls are ridiculous."

"Sally, don't be tiresome! What's to be done?"

"Leave 'em alone," counselled her ladyship. "There's no good to be got out of interfering. Philip must play his own game."

"He intends to. But he does not know whether she loves him or not!"

"You can tell him from me that there is hope, but that he must go carefully. And now I'm going to sleep. Good bye, Maurice."

Sixteen

Mistress Cleone Finds There Is No Safety in Numbers

When Philip entered the ballroom of my lady Dering's house, on Wednesday evening, Lady Malmerstoke had already arrived. Cleone was dancing with Sir Deryk; Jennifer was sitting beside her ladyship, looking very shy and very bewildered. As soon as he could do so, Philip made his way to that end of the room.

Lady Malmerstoke welcomed him with a laugh.

"Good even, Philip! Have you brought your papa?"

Philip shook his head.

"He preferred to go to White's with Tom. Jenny, you'll dance with me, will you not? Remember, you promised!"

Jennifer raised her eyes.

"I--I doubt I--cannot. I--I have danced so few times, sir."

"Don't tell me those little feet cannot dance, _chérie_!"

Jennifer glanced down at them.

"It's monstrous kind of you, Philip--but--but are you sure you want to lead me out?"

Philip offered her his arm.

"I see you are in a very teasing mood, Jenny," he scolded.

Jennifer rose.

"Well, I will--but--oh, I am very nervous! I expect you dance so well."

"I don't think I do, but I am sure you under-rate your dancing. Let us essay each other!"

* * * * *

From across the room Cleone saw them. She promptly looked away, but contrived, nevertheless, to keep an eye on their movements. She saw Philip presently lead Jenny to a chair and sit talking to her. Then he hailed a passing friend and presented him to Jennifer. Cleone watched him walk across the room to a knot of men. He returned to Jennifer with several of them. Unreasoning anger shook Cleone. Why did Philip care what happened to Jennifer? Why was he so assiduous in his attentions? She told herself she was an ill-natured cat, but she was still angry. From Jennifer Philip went to Ann Nutley.

Sir Deryk stopped fanning Cleone.

"There he goes! I declare, Philip Jettan makes love to every pretty woman he meets! Just look at them!"

Cleone was looking. Her little teeth were tightly clenched.

"Mr. Jettan is a flatterer," she said.

"Always so abominably French, too. Mistress Ann seems amused. I believe Jettan is a great favourite with the ladies of Paris."

Suddenly Cleone remembered that duel that Philip had fought "over the fair name of some French maid."

"Yes?" she said carelessly. "Of course, he is very handsome."

"Do you think so? Oh, here he comes! Evidently the lovely Ann does not satisfy him.... Your servant, sir!"

Philip smiled and bowed.

"Mademoiselle, may I have the honour of leading you out?" he asked.

Above all, she must not show Philip that she cared what he did.

"Oh, I have but this instant sat down!" she said. "I protest I am fatigued and very hot!"

"I know of a cool withdrawing-room," said Brenderby at once. "Let me take you to it, fairest!"

"It's very kind, Sir Deryk, but I do not think I will go. If I might have a glass of ratafia?" she added plaintively, looking at Philip.

For once he was backward in responding. Sir Deryk bowed.

"At once, dear lady! I go to procure it!"

"Oh, thank you, sir!" This was not what Cleone wanted at all. "Well, Mr. Jettan, you have not yet fled to Paris?"

Philip sat down beside her.

"No, mademoiselle, not yet. To-night will decide whether I go or stay." His voice was rather stern.

"Indeed? How vastly exciting!"

"Is it not! I am going to ask you a plain question, Cleone. Will you marry me?"

Cleone gasped in amazement. Unreasoning fury shook her. That Philip should dare to come to her straight from the smiles of Ann Nutley! She glanced at him. He was quite solemn. Could it be that he mocked her? She forced herself to speak lightly.

"I can hardly suppose that you are serious, sir!"

"I am in earnest, Cleone, never more so. We have played at cross-purposes long enough."

His voice sent a thrill through her. Almost he was the Philip of Little Fittledean. Cleone forced herself to remember that he was not.

"Cross-purposes, sir? I fail to understand you!"

"Yes? Have you ever been honest with me, Cleone?"

"Have you ever been honest with me, Mr. Jettan?" she said sharply.

"Yes, Cleone. Before you sent me away I was honest with you. When I came back, no. I wished to see whether you wanted me as I was, or as I pretended to be. You foiled me. Now I am again honest with you. I say that I love you, and I want you to be my wife."

* * * * *