“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. Goodbye, Maurice.”
XVI
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 underrate 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
