Cleone tried to hold him back.
“Sir Maurice, you don’t understand! You must not ask Ph—your son to—to—help me! I—I didn’t tell you all! I—Oh, come back!”
The door closed behind Sir Maurice.
“A very prompt, wise man,” commented Lady Malmerstoke. “Now I am to be baulked of the scandal. Hey-dey!”
Cleone paced to and fro.
“I can’t face him! I can’t, I can’t! What must he think of me? What must he think? Aunt, you don’t know all!”
“Oh, yes, I do,” retorted her ladyship.
“No, no, you do not! Philip asked me to marry him—and—I refused! I—I—told him—I would not marry a man with a tarnished reputation! I—I said that—and worse! I accused him of trifling and—and—oh, it’s too awful! That he should have been the one to see! How he must scorn me. Oh, Aunt, Aunt, can’t you say something?”
“Ay, one thing. That you will have to be very humble to Master Philip. At least, he was never betrothed twice in one night.”
Cleone collapsed on to the couch.
“I’ll not see him! I—oh, I must go home at once! I must, I must! Everything is all my fault! I ought never to have—sent him away! And now—and now he despises me!”
“Who says so?”
“I—how could he do else? Don’t—don’t you realise how dreadful I have been? And—and his face—when—when he—heard everything! He’ll never never believe—the truth!”
“What matters it?” asked my lady carelessly. “Since you do not love him—”
“Oh, I do, I do, I do!” wept Cleone.
François admitted Sir Maurice. His round face was perturbed. It cleared somewhat at the sight of Sir Maurice.
“Ah, m’sieur, entrez donc! M’sieur Philippe he is like one mad!—He rage, he go up and down the room like a caged beast! It is a woman, without doubt it is a woman! I have known it depuis longtemps! Something terrible has happened! M’sieur is hors de lui-même!”
Sir Maurice laughed.
“Poor François! I go to reassure M’sieur.”
“Ah, if m’sieur can do that!”
“I can—most effectively. Where is he?”
François pointed to the library door.
Philip literally pounced on his father.
“Well? You have seen her? Is she in love with Brenderby? Is she to wed him? What did she tell you?”
Sir Maurice pushed him away.
“You are the second distracted lover who has clutched me today. Have done.”
Philip danced with impatience.
“But speak, Father! Speak!”
Sir Maurice sat down leisurely and crossed his legs.
“At the present moment Cleone is betrothed. Very much so,” he added, chuckling. “I am about to put the whole matter into your hands.”
“My hands? She wants my help?”
“Not at all. She is insistent that you shall not be appealed to. In fact, she was almost frantic when I suggested it.”
“Then does she not want to marry Brenderby?”
“Certainly not. But she will do if you fail to intervene.”
Philip flung out his hands.
“But tell me, sir! What happened last night?”
“Sit down and be quiet,” said Sir Maurice severely. “I am on the point of telling you.”
Philip obeyed meekly.
“And don’t interrupt.” Sir Maurice proceeded to relate all that he had heard from Cleone. … “And she was so upset that she went with Brenderby, not caring what happened. That is the whole story,” he ended.
“Upset? But—was she upset—because I had offered and been rejected?”
“Presumably. Now she is so hopelessly compromised that she daren’t face you.”
Philip sank his head into his hands and gave way to a long peal of laughter.
“Sacré nom de Dieu, the tables are turned, indeed. Oh, Clo, Clo, you wicked little hussy! And what was in that locket?”
“That you will have to ask her yourself,” answered Sir Maurice.
Philip jumped up.
“And I shall. Mordieu, never did I dream of such a solution to my difficulties!”
“Perhaps she still will not have you, Philip,” warned Sir Maurice.
Philip flung back his head.
“Thunder of God, she will have me now if I have to force her to the altar! Ciel, you have taken a load off my mind, sir! I thought she cared for Brenderby! She smiled on him so consistently. And now for ce cher Brenderby! I am going to enjoy myself.”
“Remember, Philip! No breath of scandal!”
“Am I so clumsy? Not a whisper shall there be! François, François! My hat, my cloak, my boots, and my sword!”
XVIII
Philip Takes Charge of the Situation
Sir Deryk’s valet came to him, bowing.
“There is a gentleman below who desires speech with you, sir.”
“Oh? Who is he?”
“Mr. Philip Jettan, sir.”
Sir Deryk raised his eyebrows.
“Jettan? What can he want with me? Ay, I’ll come.” He rose and went languidly downstairs. “This is an unexpected honour, Jettan! Come in!” He led Philip into a large room. “Is it a mere friendly visit?”
“Anything but that,” said Philip. “I have come to tell you that you will not be able to wed Mistress Cleone Charteris.”
“Oh?” Brenderby laughed. “Why do you say that?”
“Because,” Philip smiled a little, “I am going to wed her myself.”
“You? Oh, Gad, you make the third!”
“And there is, as you know, luck in odd numbers. Are you satisfied?”
“Satisfied? Damme, no! The girl’s lovely! I’ve a mind to her.”
“Even though I tell you that she desires to be released?”
“Even though she told it me herself!”
“I trust you will allow me to persuade you?” Philip patted his sword-hilt lovingly.
A light sprang to Brenderby’s eyes.
“Is it a fight you’re wanting? By Gad, no man has ever had need to challenge me twice! Here? Now? Help me push the table back!”
“One moment! You love a hazard, I think? I fight you for the right to wed Mistress Cleone. If I win you relinquish all claim upon her, and you swear never to breathe a word of what passed last night. If you win—oh, if you win, you do as you please!”
“Ay, aught you will! I’ve been pining for a fight for many a long day. You’re a man after my heart, stap me if you’re not! Here, wait while I fetch my sword!” He hurried out of the room, returning in
