"You forget, dear. I sent him. He is but obeying me." "And--and me." Sir Maurice found nothing to say to that. "Was I--perhaps--very wicked--to--to--do what he said--I did?" "What was that, Cleone?" "Th--throw away--an honest man's love for--for--oh, you know the things he said!" "Silly young fool! You gave him his just deserts, Cleone. And you may vouch for it that he will be back here at your feet in a very short while." Cleone glanced up through her lashes. "Do you really think so?" she asked eagerly. "Of course I do!" he answered stoutly. Just then a bell clanged somewhere in the distance. Cleone jumped up and ran to the window which looked out on the avenue. She tip-toed, craning her neck to see who stood in the porch. "Why, it is Sir Harold Bancroft!" she exclaimed. "Plague take him, then!" said Sir Maurice, disagreeably. "I can't stand the fellow or his sprig of a son!" Cleone blushed and continued to stand with her back to the room until footsteps sounded along the passage, and the door opened to admit the visitor. Sir Maurice rose. "Give ye good den, Bancroft. It's good of you to come to visit me this cold day." Bancroft wrung the thin hand, pressing Sir Maurice's rings into his fingers. He bowed jerkily to the curtseying Cleone, and blurted forth his errand. "'Tis a joke I must have you share! 'Twill be the death of you, I vow. You knew my son was in Paris?" Sir Maurice put forward a chair. "Really? No, I did not know." "Well, he is. And"--a chuckle escaped him--"so is yours!" "Oh!" It was a smothered exclamation from Cleone. Sir Maurice smiled. "I guessed as much," he said, quite untruthfully. "Have you news from Henry?" "No, not I! But I've a letter from an old friend of mine--Satterthwaite. Do ye know him?" Sir Maurice shook his head. Having seen his guest into a chair, he sat down on the couch, and beckoned Cleone to his side. "No. He, too, is in Paris?" "Ay. Now wait while I find the letter! You'll split o' laughter when you've heard me read it!" He rummaged in his capacious pockets, and drew forth two or three crumpled sheets. These he spread out, and proceeded to find the place. "'I trust....' No, that's not it! 'We are' ... Hum, hum, hum! Ah, here we have it! Just listen to this!" He held the parchment close to his nose and began to read: "'... Whom should I meet but your boy, Henry! I had no notion he was in Paris, or I should have sought him out, you may depend. The manner of my meeting with him was most singular, as you will agree, and it is the more interesting as the occasion affords the subject for the latest joke of Paris, nay, I may almost say scandal, though to be sure I mean not our meeting, but that which I am about to relate....' A bit involved, that," remarked Bancroft, frowning. "Not at all," said Sir Maurice. "I understand perfectly." "Well, it's more than I do! However: 'I came upon Moosoo de Château-Banvau the other day....'" "Château-Banvau!" "Eh? Do ye know him?"