"_Reste tranquille_," grinned De Vangrisse. "We are all backing you, _mon petit_." "I trust you'll not forget to inform His Majesty of the rendezvous," said Philip, resorting to bitter sarcasm. "And have you engaged a fiddler to enliven the meeting?" "_Philippe se fâche_," teased De Chatelin. "Quiet, little fighting cock!" "I shall write an ode!" threatened Philip direfully. "Ah no, that is too much!" cried De Vangrisse with feeling. "And I shall read it to you before I engage. Well?" "It is a heavy price to pay," answered Paul, "but not too heavy for the entertainment." Ten In Which a Letter Is Read Cleone sat on a stool at Sir Maurice's knee and sighed. So did Sir Maurice, and knew that they sighed for the same thing. "Well, my dear," he said, trying to speak cheerfully, "how is your mamma?" "The same as ever, I thank you," answered Cleone. Sir Maurice patted her hand. "And how is little Cleone?" "Oh, sir, can you ask? I am very well," she said, with great sprightliness. "And you?" Sir Maurice was more honest. "To tell the truth, my dear, I miss that young scamp." Cleone played with her fingers, her head bent. "Do you, sir? He should be home again ere long. Do you--do you yet know where he is?" "No. That does not worry me. My family does not write letters." "Mr. Tom--has not told you, I suppose." "No. I've not seen Tom for some time.... The boy has been away six months now. Gad, but I'd like to see him walk in at that door!" Cleone's head sank a little lower. "Do you think--harm could have come to him, sir?" "No. Else had I heard. Faith, it's our own fault, Cleone, and we are grumbling!" "I never--" "My dear, don't pretend to me! Do you think I don't know?" Cleone was silent. "We sent Philip to acquire polish. Heaven knows what has happened to him! Would you care greatly if he returned--without the polish, child?" "No!" whispered Cleone. "Nor should I. Strange! But I should prefer it, I confess." "Do you think--do you think he--he will be--very elegant, Sir Maurice?" He smiled. "I fear not, Cleone. Can you see our Philip tricked up in town clothes, apeing town ways?" "N--no." There was silence for a few minutes. "Sir Maurice." "My dear?" "Mamma has a letter from my aunt, Lady Malmerstoke." "So? And what does she say therein?" "She--she wants me to go to her for the season." Sir Maurice looked down at her. "And you are going?" "I don't--know. I--do not wish to leave you, sir." "That is very kind of you, child. But I'd not have you stay for my sake." "It's no such thing, sir. I do not want to go." "Why, Cleone, not for the season? Think of the balls and the routs." "I don't--care about it." It was a forlorn little voice, and Sir Maurice patted her hand again. "Tut-tut, my love!" Another silence. "I do not think it is very kind in Philip to stay away from you for so long a time," said Cleone wistfully.