"I had thought not, sir, but now"—another glance was cast at Cleone—"I think—perhaps—!" He smiled, running quick, appraising eyes over Philip's person. "Do you know, sir, I swear I'd not have known you. You have grown prodigiously."

Cleone broke into the conversation.

"You were so much older than Philip or James or me, Mr. Bancroft!"

Instantly he swept round.

"I thank you for the past tense, Mistress Cleone! At least, I am no longer so aged."

"Why, sir, have you lost your years?" she asked.

"In your company, yes, madam. Can you wonder?"

"Oh, I am monstrous flattered, sir!" Cleone spread out her fan and held it before her face.

"Not flattered, Mistress Cleone; justly appreciated."

"La!" said Madam Charteris. "How can you say such things, Mr. Bancroft? I declare you will make my daughter vain!"

"Vanity, madam, mates not with such beauty as that of your daughter," he retaliated. To the right he could see Philip, glowering, and his mischievous soul laughed. Then Sir Maurice claimed his attention, and he turned away.

Philip walked to the couch and stood behind it, resting his arm on the back. He leaned over Cleone with an air of possession.

"Pranked out mummer!" he muttered in her ear.

Cleone smiled up at him.

"Why, sir, are you at variance with him in the matter of my looks?" she asked, and thereby bereft him of speech. Her smile turned to a look of reproach. "'Tis your cue, sir; am I to be slighted?"

A dull red crept to the roots of Philip's hair. He spoke lower still.

"You know—what I think of you, Cleone. I cannot—mouth what I feel—in pretty phrases."

A strangely tender light came into her eyes.

"You might try, Philip," she said.

 Prev. P 29/162 next