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 under-rate 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 Deryk bowed.
"At once, dear lady! I go to procure it!"
"Oh, thank you, sir!" This was not what Cleone wanted at all. "Well, Mr. Jettan, you have not yet fled to Paris?"
Philip sat down beside her.
"No, mademoiselle, not yet. To-night will decide whether I go or stay." His voice was rather stern.
"Indeed? How vastly exciting!"
"Is it not! I am going to ask you a plain question, Cleone. Will you marry me?"
Cleone gasped in amazement. Unreasoning fury shook her. That Philip should dare to come to her straight from the smiles of Ann Nutley! She glanced at him. He was quite solemn. Could it be that he mocked her? She forced herself to speak lightly.
"I can hardly suppose that you are serious, sir!"
"I am in earnest, Cleone, never more so. We have played at cross-purposes long enough."
His voice sent a thrill through her. Almost he was the Philip of Little Fittledean. Cleone forced herself to remember that he was not.
"Cross-purposes, sir? I fail to understand you!"
"Yes? Have you ever been honest with me, Cleone?"
"Have you ever been honest with me, Mr. Jettan?" she said sharply.
"Yes, Cleone. Before you sent me away I was honest with you. When I came back, no. I wished to see whether you wanted me as I was, or as I pretended to be. You foiled me. Now I am again honest with you. I say that I love you, and I want you to be my wife."
"You say that you love me...." Cleone tapped her fan on her knee. "Perhaps you will continue to be honest with me, sir. Am I the only one you have loved?"
"You are the only one."
The blue eyes flashed.
"And what of the ladies of the French Court, Mr. Jettan? What of a certain duel you fought with a French husband? You can explain that, no doubt?"
Philip was silent for a moment, frowning.
"So the news of that absurd affair reached you, Cleone?"
She laughed, clenching her teeth.
"Oh, yes, sir! It reached me. A pity, was it not?"
"A great pity, Cleone, if on that gossip you judge me."
"Ah! There was no truth in the tale?" Suppressed eagerness was in her voice.
"I will be frank with you. A certain measure of truth there was. M. de Foli-Martin thought himself injured. It was not so."
"And why should he think so, sir?"
"Presumably because I paid court to madame, his wife."
"Yes?" Cleone spoke gently, dangerously. "You paid court to madame. No doubt she was very lovely?"
"Very." Philip was nettled.
"As lovely, perhaps, as Mademoiselle de Marcherand, of whom I have heard, or as Mistress Ann Nutley yonder? Or as lovely as Jennifer?"
Philip took a false step.
"Cleone, surely you are not jealous of little Jenny?" he cried.
She drew herself up.
"Jealous? What right have I to be jealous? You are nothing to me, Mr. Jettan! I confess that once I—liked you. You have changed since then. You cannot deny that you have made love to a score of beautiful women since you left home. I do not blame you for that. You are free to do as you please. What I will not support is that you should come to me with your proposal, having shown me during the time that you have spent in England that I am no more to you than Ann Nutley, or Julie de Marcherand. 'To the Pearl that Trembles in her Ear,' was it not? Very pretty, sir. And now I intrigue you for the moment. I cannot consider myself flattered, Mr. Jettan."
Philip had grown pale under his paint.
"Cleone, you wrong me! It is true that I have trifled harmlessly with those ladies. It is the fashion—the fashion you bade me follow. There has never been aught serious betwixt any woman and me. That I swear!"
"You probably swore the same to M. de Foli-Martin?"
"When I had given him the satisfaction he craved, yes."
"I suppose he believed you?"
"No." Philip bit his lip.
"No? Then will you tell me, sir, how it is that you expect me to believe what M. de Foli-Martin—closely concerned—would not believe?"
Philip looked straight into her eyes.
"I can only give you my word, Cleone."
Still she fought on, wishing to be defeated.
"So you have never trifled with any of these women, sir?"
Philip was silent again.
"You bring me"—Cleone's voice trembled—"a tarnished reputation. I've no mind to it, sir. You have made love to a dozen other women. Perhaps you have kissed them. And—and now you offer me—your kisses! I like unspoilt wares, sir."
Philip rose, very stiff and stern.
"I am sorry that you consider yourself insulted by my offer, Cleone."
Her hand half flew towards him and fell again. Couldn't he understand that she wanted him to beat down her resistance? Did he care no more than that? If only he would deny everything and master her!
"I hasten to relieve you of my obnoxious presence. Your servant, mademoiselle." Philip bowed. He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Cleone stricken.
Her fan dropped unheeded to the ground. Philip had gone! He had not understood that she wanted to be overruled, overcome. He had gone, and he would never come back. In those few minutes he had been the Philip she loved, not the flippant gallant of the past weeks. Tears came into Cleone's eyes. Why, why had he been so provoking? And oh, why had she let him go? She knew now beyond question that he was the only man she could ever love, or had ever loved. Now he had left her, and would go back to Paris. Nothing mattered, she did not care what became of her once she had lost Philip.
James Winton, never far away, came to her side and sat down. Cleone greeted him mechanically and proceeded to follow out her own line of dismal thought. Through a haze of misery she heard James' voice. It sounded rather shy, and very anxious. She had not the faintest idea of what he was saying, but she felt vaguely annoyed by his persistency. Presently these words filtered through to her brain:
"Say yes, Cleone! Say yes! Oh, say yes, Cleone!"
How importunate he was! Cleone turned impatiently.
"Oh, yes, yes! What is it?"
As James had been blurting out a carefully-worded proposal of marriage, he was not flattered by this answer. He rose, hurt to the bottom of his youthful soul.
"It is evident that you have not heard a word of what I said, Cleone!"
"Oh, don't worry me, James! I've said yes. What is it? You are so persistent, and I wish to be quiet!"
James bowed.
"I will leave you, madam. I offered you my hand and my heart." With that he walked off, a picture of outraged dignity.
Cleone broke into hysterical laughter. Up came Sir Deryk.
"You seem vastly entertained, lady fair. May I share the pleasantry?"
Cleone sprang up.
"Take me away from this!" she begged. "I—I am nigh fainting from the heat! I—oh, I must be quiet! The fiddling goes through and through my head. I—oh, take me somewhere cool!"
Sir Deryk was surprised, but he did not show it.
"Why, of course, dearest! I know of a small withdrawing-room nearby. Take my arm, it's stifling in here!" He led her across the room to where a heavy curtain hung, shutting off a small, dimly-lighted apartment.
Meanwhile Philip had gone to Lady Malmerstoke's side. He sat down, frowning gloomily.
Her ladyship eyed him speculatively.
"Well?" she demanded.
Philip laughed bitterly.
"Oh, I have been rebuffed! Do I conceal it so admirably?"
"No, you do not," said her ladyship. "You must have played your cards monstrously badly. Trust a man."
"Oh, no! Tis merely that your niece does not love me."
"Fiddle! Don't tell me that. D'you think I'm a fool, Philip?"
"She objects, madam, to my—tarnished reputation. She was quite final."
"You thought she was quite final. Now, don't be stately, child! What happened?"
"I asked her to marry me—and she flung my wretched Paris affaires in my face."
"Of course, you denied everything?"
"No, I did not. How could I? There was a certain measure of tr—"
Lady Malmerstoke leaned back disgustedly.
"God preserve me from young men! You admitted it?"
"No—that is, I was frank with her."
"Great heavens, Philip! Frank with a woman? God help you, then! And what next? Did you tell Cleone not to be a fool? Did you insist that she should listen to you?"
"How could I? She—"
"You didn't. You walked off when you should have mastered her. I'll wager my best necklet she was waiting for you to assert yourself. And now she's probably miserable. Serve her right, and you too."
"But, Lady Malmerstoke—"
"Not but what I don't sympathise with the child," continued her ladyship inexorably. "Of course, she is a fool, but so are all girls. A woman of my age don't inquire too closely into a man's past—we've learned wisdom. Cleone knows that you have trifled with a dozen other women. Bless you, she don't think the worse of you for that!"
"She does! She said—"
"For goodness' sake, don't try to tell me what she said, Philip! What's that to do with it?"
"But you don't understand! Cleone said—"
"So she may have. That does not mean that she meant it, does it?" asked her ladyship in great scorn.
"Mais—"
"Don't start talking French at me, child, for I can't bear it! You should know by now that no woman means what she says when it's to a man."
"Oh, stop, stop! Lady Malmerstoke, you don't understand! Cleone does think the worse of me for those intrigues! She is very angry!"
"Of course she is. What do you expect?"
Philip clasped his head.
"Mais, voyons! Just now you said that she does not think the worse of me for it!"
"Who said she did? Can't one think two things at the same time?"
"But surely not two such—such contradictory things! I have never done so in my life!"
"You! You're only a man! You've not our gifts! I can tell you!" My lady spread out her fan. "Why, a woman can think of a hundred different things at once, all of them contradictory!" She nodded at him complacently.
"It's ridiculous! It's impossible! Are women's brains so—so incoherent?"
"Most of 'em," answered her ladyship. "They jump, you see."
"Jump?" Philip was thoroughly bewildered.
"Jump. From one thing to another. You'll arrive at a new thought by degrees, and you'll know how you got there. Women don't think like that. Cleone could not tell you why she thinks well and ill of you at once, but she does."
"But surely if she reasons with herself she'll see how absurd—"
"If she what?"
"Reasons. I mean—"
"You're mad," said Lady Malmerstoke with conviction. "Women don't reason. That's a man's part. Why, do you suppose that if Cleone thought as you think, and had a brain like a man's, you'd be in love with her? Of course you'd not. You'd not be able to feel your superiority over her. Don't tell me!"
"I don't feel—"
Her ladyship chuckled.
"Oh, don't you, Philip? You think that Clo is reasonable-minded, and able to care for herself, needing no master?"
"I—no, I don't!"
"That's what I say. Goodness me, how blind you are! If you didn't consider that you had to care for Cleone and guard her from everyone else and herself, you wouldn't love her. Now don't be foolish!"
Philip laughed ruefully.
"You're a fount of wisdom, Lady Sally!"
"Well, I should be at my age. I've had experience, you see, and I never was a fool."
"Then—tell me what I am to do?"
Lady Malmerstoke wagged an impressive finger at him.
"Take that girl and shake her. Tell her you'll not be flouted. Tell her she's a little fool, and kiss her. And if she protests, go on kissing her. Dear me, what things I do say!"
"Yes, but, dear Lady Sally, how am I to kiss her when she's as cold as ice—and—and so unapproachable?"
"And why is she cold?" said her ladyship. "Tell me that!"
"Because she—thinks me naught but an elegant trifler!"
"Not a bit of it. Because you treat her gently and politely, and let her flout you. God bless my soul, women don't want gentle politeness! Not Cleone, at all events! They like a man to be brutal!"
"Brutal?"
"Well, not exactly. They like to feel he'll stand no airs and graces. Oh, they want gentleness, never fear! But they want to feel helpless. They want mastering, most of 'em. When you kiss the tips of Clo's fingers, and treat her as though you thought she was made o' porcelain, she thinks you're no man, and don't care for her."
"She cannot! She—"
"She don't know it, of course, but it's true. Be advised by me, Philip, and insist on having your way with her. Don't be finicky!"
"It's very well, but she doesn't love me!"
"Oh, drat the man!" said her ladyship. "You fatigue me! Go your own road, but don't blame me when everything goes awry. If you have made Clo miserable she'll do something mad. And now I've warned you. Oh, here is James, looking like a sulky bear! James, my good boy, I've left my handkerchief in another room. Will you fetch it for me, please? Over there, behind the curtain. Yes, shocking, isn't it? But 'twas only old Fotheringham, so you can tell your uncle, Philip."
He rose and laughed down at her.
"And will he master you, my lady?"
"Not he," said Lady Malmerstoke placidly. "I'm past the age of wanting that nonsense. Not that I ever wanted it, but I was always unusual. Be off with you!"
Philip took James by the arm.
"We are summarily dismissed! Come, Jamie, we'll find her handkerchief, and she'll smile again."
In the withdrawing-room Cleone was dicing with Sir Deryk. A very unmaidenly proceeding. She had just lost the rose at her breast to Brenderby, and he was trying to undo the pin that held it in place. Failing in that, he grasped the stem firmly, and broke off the bloom. But with the rose he had clutched a thin blue riband from which hung a locket. It snapped, and the trinket rolled on to the floor.
Cleone was already overwrought. She sprang up.
"Oh, my locket!" And searched wildly on the floor.
Surprised at her earnestness, Brenderby went down on his knees, and presently retrieved the locket just as Cleone had seen it. He rose, and was about to present it to her when she clasped agitated hands and demanded that it should be given her at once! This aroused Sir Deryk's curiosity. He withheld it.
"Why so anxious, Cleone? What secret does it hide?"
"Naught! Oh, give it me, give it me!"
Sir Deryk held fast to the trophy.
"Not so fast, Cleone! I'll swear there's some mystery here! I've a mind to peep inside!"
"I forbid you!" said Cleone. "Sir Deryk—" She controlled herself. "Please give it me!"
"And so I will, fairest, but first I must see what is inside!"
"Oh, no, no! There's naught! I could not bear you to look! Besides, it's—it's empty. I—oh, give it me!" She stamped angrily.
Brenderby's eyes were alight with impish laughter.
"I'll make a bargain, sweetest! You shall play me for it." He picked up the dice-box. "If you beat my throw, I will give you the locket unopened. If you lose you shall pay a price for it."
"I don't understand! What do you mean?"
"You shall kiss me for it. One hard-earned kiss. Come, you must admit my terms are generous!"
"I won't! How dare you, sir! And it is my locket! You have no right to it!"
"What I find I keep! Come! The odds are equal, and in neither case do I open the locket."
"I—I thought you a gentleman!"
"So I am, Clo. Were I not—I'd take the price and then the locket. There's no one to see, and no one need know. Cleone—you lovely creature!"
Cleone wrung her hands.
"I should die of shame! Oh, Sir Deryk, please be kind!"
"Why should I be kind when you are not? You'll none of my terms? Very well!" He made as if to open the locket.
"No, no, no!" almost shrieked Cleone. "I'll do anything, anything! Only don't open it!"
"You'll play me?"
Cleone drew a deep breath.
"Yes. I will. And I'll never, never, never speak to you again!"
He laughed.
"Oh, I trust you'll change your mind! Now!" He cast the dice. "Aha! Can you beat that?"
Cleone took the box in a firm clasp, and shook it long and violently. Her cheeks were burning, her eyes tight shut. She threw the dice. Brenderby bent over the table.
"Alack!"
Her eyes flew open.
"I've won? Oh, I have won!"
"No. I was grieving for you, fairest, not for myself. You have lost."
Tears glistened on the end of her long lashes.
"Sir Deryk—p-please be gen-generous now! I don't want to—kiss you!"
"What! You cry off? Shame, Cleone!" he teased.
"You are monstrous unk-kind! It's my locket, and I d-don't want to kiss you! I don't, I don't! I hate you!"
"That adds spice, my dear. Must I take the price?"
She choked down a sob.
"Very well. Kiss me." She stood where she was, face upturned, with the resignation of a martyr.
He laid his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her.
"By God, Cleone, you're damnably beautiful!" he said thickly. "You've played with fire to-night—but I won't burn you too much!" He bent his head till his lips met hers.
At that inauspicious moment James and Philip walked into the room.
"No, it was here she said, Philip. I re—"
With a cry of horror Cleone sprang away from Sir Deryk, her cheeks flaming. Her wide eyes went from James' face of frozen astonishment to Philip's pale, furious countenance.
Philip took a half-step forward, his hand wrenching at his sword-hilt. Then he checked and slammed the sword back into the scabbard. Cleone had not struggled in Brenderby's embrace. What could he do? He had always thought her in love with the fellow. And on the top of his own proposal.... He swept a magnificent bow.
"Mille pardons, mademoiselle! It seems that I intrude."
Cleone winced at the biting sarcasm in his voice. She tried to speak, and failed. What could she say?
James came out of his stupor. He strode forward.
"What in thunder—"
"I don't kn-know!" quavered Cleone. "Oh—oh, heaven!"
Quickly Brenderby stepped to her side. He took her hand in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Gentlemen, you have the honour of addressing my affianced wife," he said haughtily.
Philip's hand was on the curtain. It clenched slowly. He stood very still, his eyes on Cleone's face.
"Oh!" cried Cleone. "Oh, I—" She stopped helplessly. Heavens, what a position she was in! If she denied that she was betrothed to Brenderby, what could Philip think? What must he think? He had seen her in Sir Deryk's arms; the only excuse was a betrothal. And she had accused Philip of loose behaviour! Whatever happened, he must not think her a light woman! But, oh! how could she say she was betrothed to another when she desired nothing better than to fly to him for protection? She compromised.
"I—oh, I think I am about—to faint!" she said.
Sir Deryk drew her hand through his arm.
"No, no, my love! Tell these gentlemen that it is as I say."
Cleone looked at Philip. Was he sneering? She couldn't bear it.
"Yes," she said. "It is."
Philip seemed to stiffen. He bowed again.
"Permit me to offer my felicitations," he said, but his voice was not quite steady.
James hurried forward, furious.
"Your pardon, sir! I beg leave to contradict that statement!"
They all stared at him in amazement. Philip eyed him through his quizzing-glass.
"I—beg—your—pardon?" drawled Brenderby.
"I am betrothed to her myself!" shouted James.
Cleone's hands flew to her cheeks.
"Oh!" she fluttered. "Oh—oh, I am going to faint!"
Brenderby's eyes twinkled.
"Bear up a little longer, dear! Of course, I know there is no truth in what Mr. Winton says!"
"It is true!" James danced in his fury. "Cleone promised to wed me, only a little while back! You can't deny it, Clo! You did!"
"I did not!"
"You did! You said yes! You know you did!"
Cleone leaned on the nearest thing to her for support. It chanced to be Sir Deryk, but she was past caring.
"James, you know I—never meant it!"
Suddenly Philip's lips twitched. Brenderby was bubbling over with ill-suppressed merriment.
"My dear, this is most serious! Did you, indeed, accept Mr. Winton's proposal?"
"Yes, but he knows I did not mean it! I—"
"Cleone, do you tell me you accepted him and—"
"Yes, she did! And I hold her to her promise!"
Cleone's knees threatened to give way.
"James, I can't marry you! I won't marry you!"
"I hold you to your promise!" repeated James, almost beside himself.
"And I." Sir Deryk passed his arm round Cleone's waist. "I hold Cleone to the promise she has given me!"
Philip interposed.
"Probably the lady would be glad of a chair," he suggested evenly. "James, Brenderby—let your future wife sit down!"
Sir Deryk's shoulders shook. He led Cleone to the couch, and she sank on to it, hiding her face.
Philip swung the curtain aside.
"Permit me to withdraw. Decidedly I am de trop. Mademoiselle, messieurs!" He went out, and the curtain fell back into place.
"Oh, oh, oh!" moaned Cleone.
James bent over her.
"Come, Clo! Let me take you back to your aunt!"
Brenderby stepped to Cleone's other side.
"Cleone needs no other escort than that of her affianced husband, sir!"
"And that is I!"
"On the contrary, it is I! Cleone, sweet, come!"
Cleone sprang up.
"It's neither of you! Don't—touch me! Oh, that I should be so humiliated! I will not marry you, James! You know that I never heard what you said!"
James set his chin stubbornly.
"I'll not release you from your promise," he said.
"And nor will I." Sir Deryk was enjoying himself.
"You must release me, James!" cried Cleone. "I—I am going to wed—Sir Deryk!" She dissolved into tears. "Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do? How—how dreadful it is! Let me go! I hate you both!" She fled from them and was at her aunt's side before either had time to follow her.
"Good gracious, child, what's amiss?" exclaimed Lady Malmerstoke. "You're as white as my wig!"
"Take me home!" begged Cleone. "I am b-betrothed to Sir Deryk and James! Oh, for heaven's sake, take me home!"
Sir Maurice and his brother were sitting at breakfast next morning when Philip burst in on them. Tom jumped up and swore.
"Damn you, Philip! At this hour!"
Philip paid not the slightest heed to him. He grasped his father by the shoulder.
"Father, you must to Lady Malmerstoke's house at once!"
Sir Maurice ate another mouthful of beef.
"Sit down, my son, and be calm. What's to do?"
"God alone knows!" cried Philip. He sank into a chair and rejected his uncle's offer of breakfast. "Breakfast? What have I to do with food when I'm nigh demented?"
"Drink's the thing," agreed Tom placidly. He pushed a tankard of ale towards his nephew. "What ails you, lad?"
"Cleone's betrothed to Brenderby," announced Philip wretchedly.
"No!" Tom was dumbfounded.
"And to Winton." Philip sought to drown his troubles in the tankard.
"What!" Sir Maurice dropped his knife. "Betrothed to Brenderby and Winton? You're raving!"
"Would to God I were!" Philip emerged from the tankard, and wiped his lips with his fathers napkin. "I asked her to marry me at the ball last night. She refused; I won't tell you her exact words. Half an hour later I found her kissing ce scélérat Brenderby in a secluded corner!" He laughed savagely.
"You mean that Brenderby kissed her?" suggested Tom.
"No, I do not! Voyons, would he be alive now had he dared embrace Cleone against her will? She submitted—she wished it!"
"I'll not believe that!" exclaimed Sir Maurice.
"You must believe it. She is betrothed to him. She said it herself. James was with me. He interposed, saying that she was already promised to him."
Tom gave a chuckle.
"Faith, the child is rich in—" He caught Philips eye and subsided. "Oh, ay, ay! Go on."
"I know no more. I deemed it time for me to withdraw."
"The proper thing to have done," said Tom solemnly, "was to have struck an attitude and said, 'Not so! The girl is mine!'"
"What right had I? I was not amongst the favoured ones."
"Don't sneer, Philip," interposed Sir Maurice. "There must be something behind all this."
Philip turned to him.
"That's what I hope and trust! You must go at once to Lady Malmerstoke's!" His head sank into his hands and he gave way to a gust of laughter. "Oh, Gad! neither would give way an inch. Both held Clo to her promise!"
"Ye seem monstrous light-hearted about it," said his uncle.
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 to-night—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 tell-tale 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 will cause you any annoyance, my dear. I can vouch for his discretion."
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 to-day. 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!"
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 a very short time with a rapier. "I've told my man that you have come to fence with me. But we'll lock the door in case of accidents. How does my sword measure with yours?"
Philip compared them.
"Very well." His eyes danced suddenly. "Dieu! I never thought to fight so strange a duel!" He pulled off his boots. "We'll fight in wigs, yes? One is so displeasing without a hair to one's head."
"A dozen, if you like!" Brenderby struggled out of his coat and vest. "You know, you are shorter than I am. We're not fair matched."
Philip laughed, tucking up his ruffles.
"No matter. You see, I must win!"
"Why?" Brenderby made an imaginary pass in the air.
"So much depends on it," explained Philip. "Is the light fair to both?"
"Fair enough," said Brenderby.
"You are ready, then? Eh bien!"
The blades met and hissed together.
Opening in quarte, Brenderby seemed at first to be the better of the two. Philip stayed on the defensive, parrying deftly and allowing Brenderby to expend his energies. Once Brenderby's blade flashed out and all but pinked Philip, but he managed to recover his opposition in time. His eyes opened wider; he became more cautious. Suddenly he descried an opening and lunged forward. There was a moment's scuffle, and Brenderby put the murderous point aside. Then Philip seemed to quicken. When Brenderby began to pant, Philip changed his tactics, and gave back thrust for thrust. His wrist was like flexible steel; his footwork was superb; the whole style of his fencing was different from that of Brenderby.
All at once Brenderby saw an opening. He thrust in quinte, steel scraped against steel, and Philip's point flashed into his right arm above the elbow.
Brenderby staggered back, clutched at his arm, and tried to raise his sword again. But Philip was at his side, supporting him.
"It's only a flesh wound—painful now—bien sûr. It will—heal quickly. I do not—mistake," he gasped.
"Damme—I'm not done for—yet!"
"But yes! I fight—no more. You cannot—keep your blade—steady—now! Sit down!" He lowered Brenderby into a chair, and whisked out his handkerchief. He bound up Sir Deryk's wound and fetched him a glass of wine from a decanter on the sideboard.
"Thanks!" Sir Deryk gulped it down. "But where are my manners? Pour some for yourself, Jettan! Gad, but you pinked me neatly!" He seemed to slip back into his habitual drawl. "As pretty a piece of sword-play as I wish to see. But you fence French-fashion."
Philip drank some wine.
"Yes. It was at Paris that I learned. With Guillaume Corvoisier."
"No!" Brenderby heaved himself up. "Corvoisier, forsooth! No wonder you're so quick!"
Philip smiled and bowed.
"You frightened me more than once, sir."
"Faith, it wasn't apparent then! You were so intent on winning?"
"It means so much, you see," said Philip simply. "My whole life's happiness."
"What! You really intend to wed Cleone?"
Again Philip bowed.
"I have always intended to wed her."
"You?" Brenderby stared. "I never knew that! What of that young sprig Winton?"
"Oh, I think I can persuade James!"
"Like this?" Brenderby glanced down at his arm.
"No, not like that. Tell me, sir, did you intend to wed Mademoiselle?"
"Heaven forbid! I've no mind to tie myself up yet awhile. Your entrance last night forced me to say what I did to spare the lady's blushes. I'd no notion of continuing the comedy, until young Winton thrust in with his prior claim. Gad, but 'twas amusing! Did you not find it so?"
"I? No. But I was closely concerned in the affair, you see. I may take it that you will say naught of last night's work?"
"Of course not. 'Twas a mad jest, but I'd not let it go so far as to damage a lady's reputation. And you may tell Mistress Cleone that I apologise—for what happened before. She's too damnably beautiful."
Philip worked himself into his coat.
"'Damnably' is not the word I should employ, but n'importe." He sat down and started to pull on his boots. "I have enjoyed myself. I said I should."
"Tare an' 'ouns, so have I! It's an age since I've had a sword in my hand. I am indebted to you, sir."
"Yes, you are out of practice. I thank the kind fates for that!"
"Ay, I'd have kept you at it longer, but I don't know that the issue would have been different. You must go?"
Philip picked up his hat.
"I must. I have to thank you for—"
"Oh, stuff! I'd no notion of holding Cleone to her promise, but I could not resist the offer of a fight. I wish you could see how monstrous amusing it was, though!"
Philip laughed.
"Had it been anyone but Cleone I might have been able to appreciate the humour of the situation! I trust the wound will heal quickly."
"Oh, that's naught! A mere prick, but I was winded. Fare ye well, Jettan. My felicitations! You felicitated me last night, did you not?" He laughed.
"With black murder in my heart!" nodded Philip. "I do not say good bye, but au revoir!"
"Here's my hand on it then—my left hand, alack!"
Philip grasped it. Brenderby accompanied him to the front door and waved to him as he ran down the steps.
"Bonne chance, as you'd say yourself! Au 'voir!"
Philip waved back at him and turned to hail a passing chair. He instructed the bearers to carry him to Jermyn Street.
It seemed that the luck was indeed with him, for he arrived just as James was descending the steps of his house. Philip sprang out, paid the chairmen, and took Winton's arm.
"My friend, a word with you!"
"Yes?" said James. "You seem excited, Philip."
"It's what I am, then. I've come to speak to you of Cleone."
James stiffened.
"I'll not give her up to that fellow Brenderby!" he said fiercely. "It's more than flesh and blood can bear."
"Assuredly. But will you give her up to me?"
James turned to stare at him.
"You? But she is to wed Brenderby!"
"Ah, but no! that is at an end. Brenderby releases her. He is not so bad a man as you think. En effet, I like him."
"I loathe the sight of him, drawling fop!"
"To-day I have seen him in another light. But that is not what I have to say. Cleone does not wish to marry you, mon enfant, and it is churlish to persist."
"I know she'll never marry me," answered James gloomily. "I only held her to her word because I thought she'd have Brenderby if I did not."
"I understand. You'll release her—for me?"
"I suppose so. Why did you say naught last night?"
"There were reasons. They no longer exist. Come, Jamie, don't look so glum! You are young yet."
"It's easy to say that. Oh, I knew I never had a chance with her! I congratulate you, Philip."
Philip pressed his arm.
"My thanks. You're very generous! And now I must fly!"
"Where? May I accompany you?"
"Again many thanks, but no! I have an engagement. Au revoir, mon cher!"
Once more Lady Malmerstoke's page went up to the boudoir.
"Mistah Philip Jettan is below, m'lady!"
Up started Cleone.
"I will not see him! Aunt Sarah, I beg you will go to him! Please spare me this—humiliation!"
Lady Malmerstoke waved her aside.
"Admit him, Sambo. Yes, here. Cleone, control yourself!"
"I can't see him! I can't! I can't! How can I face him?"
"Turn your back, then," said her unsympathetic aunt. "I wonder what he has done?"
"D-do you think he—could have—arranged everything?" asked Cleone, with a gleam of hope.
"From what I have seen of him, I should say yes. A masterful young man, my dear. Else why that chin?" She moved to the door. Philip came in, immaculate as ever. "Ah, Philip!"
Philip shot a look past her. Cleone had fled to the window. He bent and kissed Lady Malmerstoke's hand.
"Bonjour, madame!" He held open the door and bowed.
Her ladyship laughed.
"What! Turning me from my own boudoir?"
"If you please, madame."
"Aunt—Sarah!" The whisper came from the window.
Philip smiled faintly.
"Madame...."
"Oh, that chin!" said her ladyship, and patted it. She went out and Philip closed the door behind her.
Cleone's fingers clasped one another desperately. Her heart seemed to have jumped into her throat. It almost choked her. She dared not look round. She heard the rustle of Philip's coat-skirts. Never, never had she felt so ashamed, or so frightened.
"Your devoted servant, mademoiselle!"
Cleone could not speak. She stood where she was, trembling uncontrollably.
"I have the honour of informing you, mademoiselle, that you are released from your engagements."
Was there a note of laughter in the prim voice?
"I—thank you—sir," whispered Cleone. Her teeth clenched in an effort to keep back the tears. She was blinded by them, and her bosom was heaving.
There was a slight pause. Why did he not go? Did he wish to see her still more humiliated?
"I have also to offer, on Sir Deryk's behalf, his apologies for the happenings of last night, mademoiselle."
"Th—thank—you, sir."
Again the nerve-killing silence. If only he would go before she broke down!
"Cleone...." said Philip gently.
The tears were running down her cheeks, but she kept her head turned away.
"Please—go!" she begged huskily.
He was coming across the room towards her.... Cleone gripped her hands.
"Cleone ... dearest!"
A heartbroken sob betrayed her. Philip took her in his arms.
"My sweetheart! Crying? Oh no, no! There is naught now to distress you."
The feel of his arms about her was sheer bliss; their strength was like a haven of refuge. Yet Cleone tried to thrust him away.
"What—must you—think of me!" she sobbed.
He drew her closer, till her head rested against his shoulder.
"Why, that you are a dear, foolish, naughty little Cleone. Chérie, don't cry. It is only your Philip—your own Philip, who has always loved you, and only you. Look up, my darling, look up!"
Cleone gave way to the insistence of his arms.
"Oh, Philip—forgive me!" she wept. "I have—been mad!" She raised her head and Philips arms tightened still more. He bent over her and kissed her parted lips almost fiercely.
Later, seated beside him on the couch, her head on his shoulder, and his arm about her, Cleone gave a great sigh.
"But why—why did you treat me so—hatefully—when you—came back, Philip?"
"I was hurt, darling, and wished to see whether you wanted the real me—or a painted puppet. But then you changed suddenly—and I knew not what to think."
Cleone nestled closer.
"Because I thought you—did not care! But oh, Philip, Philip, I have been so unhappy!"
Philip promptly kissed her.
"And—last night—Philip, you don't think I—"
"Sweetheart! Is it likely that I'd believe ill of you?"
She hid her face.
"I—I believed—ill—of you," she whispered.
"But you do not believe it now, sweetheart?"
"No, oh no! But—but—that duel with Mr. Bancroft. Was it—was it—some—French lady?"
Philip was silent for a moment.
"No, Cleone. That is all I can say."
"Was it"—her voice was breathless—"was it—me?"
Philip did not answer.
"It was! How wonderful!"
Philip was startled.
"You are pleased, Cleone? Pleased?"
"Of course I am! I—oo!" She gave a little wriggle of delight. "Why did you not tell me?"
"It is not—one of the things one tells one's lady-love," said Philip.
"Oh! And to-day? How did you—persuade Sir Deryk?"
"Through the arm. But he had no intention of holding you to your word."
Cleone grew rather rigid.
"Oh—indeed? In-deed?"
Philip was mystified.
"You did not want to be held to it, did you, chérie?"
"N-no. But—I don't like him, Philip."
"I did not, I confess. I think I do now."
"Do you? And what of James?"
"Oh, James! He will recover."
There was a pause while Cleone digested this.
"Philip?"
"Cleone?"
"You—you—don't care for Jenny, do you?"
"Jenny? Cleone, for shame! Because I was polite—"
"More than that, Philip!"
"Well, dearest, no one paid any heed to her or was kind. What would you?"
"It was only that? I thought—I thought—"
"Cleone, you think too much," he chided her. "Next you will accuse me of loving Ann Nutley!" It was a master-stroke, and he knew it.
"You didn't? Not a tiny bit?"
"Not an atom!"
"And no one—in Paris?"
"No one. I have pretended, but they all knew that I had already lost my heart."
"You pretended?... Oh!"
"One must, sweetest."
"But—"
He drew her closer.
"But never, most beautiful, did I become engaged—twice in one evening!" He stifled the cry that rose to her lips.
"Philip, that is ungallant, and—and hateful!"
He laughed.
"Is it not? Ah, Cleone! Tell me, my dearest, what is in your locket?"
"Something I meant to burn," she murmured.
"But did not?"
"No—I could not." She fumbled at her bosom and drew out the trinket. "See for yourself, Philip."
He opened it. A rolled lock of brown hair fell out and a torn scrap of parchment. Philip turned it over.
"Yours till death, Philip," he read. "Cleone, my love."
She buried her face on his shoulder.
"Your—hair—your poor hair!" she said.
"All gone! Look up, Cleone!"
She lifted her face. He gazed down at her, rapt.
"Oh, Cleone—I shall write a sonnet to your wonderful eyes!" he breathed.