Home went Philip, a prey to conflicting emotions. He was angry with Cleone, and hurt at what he termed her fickleness, but she was very lovely, and still wholly desirable. Never until now had he realised how necessary she was to his happiness. She would not marry him unless he reformed, learned to behave like Bancroft--that was what she meant. She did not love him as he was; she wanted polish, and frills and furbelows. Philip's lips tightened. She should have them--but he was very, very angry. Then he thought of his father, and the anger grew. What right had these two to seek to change him into something that was utterly insincere, trifling, and unmanly? His father would be rejoiced to hear that he was going "to become a gentleman." Even he had no use for Philip as he was. Well, they should have what they wanted--and then perhaps they would be sorry. In a wave of self-pity he considered how dearly he loved these two people. He wanted neither to change, he loved them for what they were; but they.... He felt very sore and ill-used. Something else there was that troubled him. He had set about the task of punishing Mr. Bancroft, and Mr. Bancroft had ended by punishing him. No pleasant thought, that. Bancroft was master not only of words but of swords; he, Philip, was master of neither. He brooded over the question, chafed and irritable. And so came home to Sir Maurice. He found him seated on the terrace, reading Juvenal. Sir Maurice, glancing up, observed Philip's sling. He said nothing, but his eyes gleamed an instant. Philip threw himself down upon a bench. "Well, sir, Bancroft and I have met." "I thought it would come," nodded his father. "I'm no match for him. He--pinked me with some ease." Again Sir Maurice nodded. "Also"--Philip spoke with difficulty--"Cleone--will have none of me--as I am." He looked across at his father with some bitterness. "As you prophesied, sir, she prefers the attentions of such as Bancroft." "And so--?" Philip was silent. "And so Mr. Jettan withdraws from the lists. Very fine," added Sir Maurice. "Have I said so, sir?" Philip spoke sharply. "Cleone desires a beau--she shall have one! I have told her that I shall not come to her until I am what--she thinks--is her desire! I will show her and you that I am not the dull-witted bumpkin you think me, fit for nothing better than"--he mimicked his father's tone--"to till the earth! I'll learn to be the painted fop you'd like to see me! Neither you nor she shall be offended longer by the sight of me as I am!" "Now, here's a heat!" remarked Sir Maurice. "So you'll to London, boy? To your uncle?" Philip shrugged. "As well to him as any other. I care not." "That's the wrong spirit for your emprise," said Sir Maurice, a laugh in his eyes. "You must enter into your venture heart and soul." Philip flung out his arm. "My heart's here, sir, at home!" "It's also at Sharley House," said his father dryly, "or why do you go to London?"