Cleone slipped her hand in his arm.

"Why, it's very kind of you, Sir Maurice. Thank you very much."

He patted the little hand. Then he again transferred his attention to Mr. Bancroft.

"I trust you too will honour us, sir?"

"It is prodigious amiable of you, sir. I hasten to accept. On Wednesday, I think you said? With all the pleasure on earth!"

"Cleone, my dear, give me your arm as far as that rose-bush. You shall choose me a button-hole, if you will. No, no, Charteris, with her own fair fingers!" He bore Cleone away to the other end of the garden, leaving Mr. Bancroft disconsolate. When they were out of hearing Sir Maurice looked down into the roguish blue eyes. "My dear, you are a minx."

Cleone dimpled charmingly.

"I don't know why you should say so, sir."

"Of course not," agreed Sir Maurice. "Now what is the game? It's to make Philip jealous, eh?"

"Sir! How can you?"

"My love, I know all about you, for I am an old man. Make Philip jealous by all means."

"I'm sure I never—"

"Of course not. But I think, with you, that it would be a very good plan. The boy is too stolid and cock-sure."

"Cock—Oh, indeed!"

"So if you shake Philip up from his toes to his head—you'll earn a father's blessing."

Cleone controlled a trembling lip.

"Sir—you are—a very naughty—conspirator."

"We'll leave it at that," said Sir Maurice. "Now choose me a rose, little witch. Gad, if I were ten years younger I'd make Philip jealous myself!"

Cleone tip-toed, her hands on his shoulders.

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