Philip sprang up.
“Because I thought that—for one moment—she looked at me for help!”
“Which you declined to give?” asked Sir Maurice dryly.
“Mon cher père, I have my own game to play. Now go to Lady Malmerstoke’s, I implore you!”
Sir Maurice rose.
“I’ll go at once. What madness can have seized Cleone?”
Philip almost pushed him out of the room.
“That is what I want to know. Quickly, Father!”
The little black page swung open the door of my lady’s boudoir.
“Sah Maurice Jettan!”
“The very man I wish to see!” exclaimed Lady Malmerstoke. “Maurry, never were you more opportune!”
Sir Maurice kissed her hand with punctilious politeness. He then smiled at Cleone, who stood by the table, pale and wan-looking.
“I hope I see you well, Cleone?”
“Very well, thank you, sir,” said Cleone dully.
Lady Malmerstoke sat down.
“Clo has disgraced me,” she said comfortably. “Is it not exciting?”
Cleone turned her head away. Sir Maurice saw her lips tremble.
“Please, Aunt—please don’t—don’t—I shall wed—Sir Deryk.”
“And what’s to happen to t’other? You can’t wed two men, my dear. I’m not sure that I shall consent to your marrying either.”
“Sir Deryk—has my word.”
“But so has James.”
“What’s this?” Sir Maurice spoke with well-feigned astonishment. “Cleone, you are not betrothed, surely?”
“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 tonight—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 telltale 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
