"_Je n'en reviendrai jamais!_" Mademoiselle spoke emphatically. "_Jamais, jamais, jamais!_" "I am not at all satisfied." Philip cocked one eyebrow at the dainty Vicomte. "What more would you have?" "I would know of what like she is." "She?" "The lady to whom your heart is lost." "That's an hundred she's," replied Philip airily. "And they are all different!" "I dare swear I could enlighten M. de Ravel," drawled Bancroft. All eyes turned his way. Philip seated himself beside Mademoiselle. He was smiling faintly. "Proceed, _mon ami_. Who is this lady that I have forgotten?" "Forgotten? Oh, come now, Jettan!" Philip played with Clothilde's fan; he was still smiling, but the bright grey eyes that met Bancroft's held a challenge. "If it transpired, m'sieur, that I had not forgotten it is possible that I might resent any liberties you or others thought to take with that lady's name," he said softly. There was a sudden silence. No one could mistake the menacing note in Philip's smooth voice. Saint-Dantin made haste to fill the breach. "The little Philippe is ready to fight us all, but it cannot be permitted. We'll not plague him, for he is very devilish when he is roused, I assure you!" He laughed easily and offered Bancroft snuff. "He is very fastidious," sneered Bancroft. M. le Comte closed his snuff-box and stepped back. He became politely bored. "The subject grows somewhat tedious, I think. Mademoiselle, will you dance?" Bancroft flushed. Mademoiselle sprang up. "I am promised to Jules!" She nodded, smiling, to De Bergeret. Together they walked away from the little group. Saint-Dantin linked arms with Philip. "Come with me to the card-room, Philippe. Unless you wish to lead out la Salévier?" He nodded to where an opulent beauty stood. "It's too fatiguing," said Philip. "I'll come." "Who is he, the ill-disposed gentleman in pink?" inquired the Comte, when they were out of earshot. "A creature of no importance," shrugged Philip. "So I see. Yet he contrives to arouse your anger?" "Yes," admitted Philip. "I do not like the colour of his coat." "You may call upon me," said Saint-Dantin at once. "I do not like anything about him. He was here before--last year. His conversation lacks _finesse_. He is tolerated in London, _hein_?" "I don't know. I trust not." "_Hé, hé!_ So he interfered between you and the lady?" Philip withdrew his arm. "Saint-Dantin!" "Oh, yes, yes, I know! We all know that in the background lurks--a lady! Else why your so chaste and cold demeanour?" "Am I cold?" "At the bottom, yes. Is it not so?" "Certainly it is so. It's unfashionable to possess a heart." "Oh, Philippe, thou art a rogue." "So I have been told. Presumably because I am innocent of the slightest indiscretion. Curious. No one dubs you rogue who so fully merit the title. But I, whose reputation is spotless, am necessarily a wicked one and a deceiver. I shall write a sonnet on the subject."