The shrewd grey eyes, so like his own, regarded him pityingly. "Little Mistress Cleone will have none of you an you fail to mend your ways, my son. Do you not know it? What has that dainty piece to do with a raw clodhopper like yourself?" Philip answered low. "If Mistress Cleone gives me her love it will be for me as I am. She is worthy a man, not a powdered, ruffled beau." "A man! _Sacré tonnerre_, 'tis what you are, _hein_? Philip, child, get you to Town to your uncle and buy a wig." "No, sir, I thank you. I shall do very well without a wig." Sir Maurice drove his cane downwards at the floor in exasperation. "_Mille diables!_ You'll to Town as I say, defiant boy! You may finish the business with that scoundrel Jenkins while you are about it!" Philip nodded. "That I will do, sir, since you wish it." "Bah!" retorted his father. * * * * * He had gone; now he had come back, the business details settled to his satisfaction, but with no wig. Sir Maurice was pleased to see him again, more pleased than he appeared, as Philip was well aware. He listened to what his son had to tell him of Tom Jettan, failed to glean any of the latest society gossip, and dismissed Philip from his presence. Half an hour later Philip rode in at the gates of Sharley House, sitting straight in his saddle, a pulse in his throat throbbing in anticipation. Cleone saw him coming. She was seated in the parlour window, embroidering in a languid fashion. Truth to tell, she was tired of her own company and not at all averse from seeing Philip. As he passed the window she bent forward a little, smiling down at him. Philip saw her at once; indeed, he had been eyeing every window of the warm, red house in the hope that she might be sitting in one. He reined in his horse and bowed to her, hat in hand. Cleone opened the casement wider, leaning over the sill, her golden curls falling forward under the strings of her cap. "Why, sir, are you back already?" she asked, dimpling. "Already!" he echoed. "It has been years! Ten years, Cleone!" "Pooh!" she said. "Ten days--not a moment more!" "Is that all it has seemed to you?" he said. Cleone's cheek became faintly tinged with pink. "What more?" she retorted. "'Tis all it is!" Into Philip's eyes came a gleam of triumph. "Aha! You've counted, then! Oh, Cleone!" The roguish look fled. "Oh!" cried Cleone, pouting. "How--how--monstrous--" "Monstrous what, dear Cleone?" "Impudent!" she ended. "I declare I won't see you!" As if to add weight to this statement, she shut the casement and moved away into the room. Presently, however, she relented, and tripped downstairs to the withdrawing-room, where she found Mr. Jettan paying his respects to her mamma. She curtseyed very demurely, allowed him to kiss the tips of her fingers, and seated herself beside Madam Charteris. Madam patted her hand. "Well, child, here is Philip returned from Town with not a word to tell us of his gaiety!"