Sir Maurice had stalked to the window. Now he turned. "What's amiss? Everything's amiss! That Philip--my son Philip!--should write me a--an impertinent letter like that! It's--it's monstrous!" "For God's sake, sit down, Maurry! You're as bad as Philip himself for restlessness! Now I take this as a very dutiful, filial letter." "Dutiful be damned!" snorted Sir Maurice. "Has the boy no other feelings than he shows in that letter? Why did he not come down to see me?" Tom re-opened the letter. "The mere thought of the country at this season appalled him. What's wrong with that? You have said the same." "I? I? What matters it what I should have said? I thought Philip cared for me! He trusts I will enliven his house with my presence! I'm more like to break my stick across his back!" "Not a whit," said Tom, cheerfully. "You sent Philip away to acquire polish, and I don't know what besides. He has obeyed you. Is it likely that, being what he now is, he'll fly back to the country? What's the matter with you, Maurice? Are you grumbling because he has obeyed your behests?" Sir Maurice sank on to the couch. "If you but knew how I have missed him and longed for him," he began, and checked himself. "I am well served," he said bitterly. "I should have been content to have him as he was." "So I thought at the time, but I've changed my opinion." "I cannot bear to think of Philip as being callous, flippant, and--a mere fop!" "'Twould be your own fault if he were," said Tom severely. "But he's not. Something inside him has blossomed forth. Philip is now pure joy." Sir Maurice grunted. "It's true, lad. That letter--oh, ay! He's a young rascal, but 'twas to avenge his injured feelings, I take it. He was devilish hurt when you and Cleone sent him away betwixt you. He's still hurt that you should have done it. I can't fathom the workings of his mind, but he assures me they are very complex. He is glad that you sent him, but he wants you to be sorry. Or rather, Cleone. The lad is very forgiving to you"--Tom laughed--"but that letter is a piece of devilry--he has plenty of it, I warn you! He hoped you'd be as angry as you are and wish your work undone. There's no lack of affection." Sir Maurice looked up. "He's--the same Philip?" "Never think it! In a way he's the same, but there's more of him--ay, and a score of affectations. In about ten minutes"--he glanced at the clock--"he'll be here. So you'll see for yourself." Sir Maurice straightened himself. He sighed. "An old fool, eh, Tom? But it cut me to the quick, that letter." "Of course it did, the young devil! Oh, Maurry, Maurry, ye never saw the like of our Philip!" "Is he so remarkable? I heard about that absurd duel, as I told you. There'll be a reckoning between him and Cleone."