"Not now. But when I received this--very." Sir Maurice held out the sheet of paper. "That! Bah!" Philip sent it whirling into the fire. "For that I apologise. If you had not been hurt--oh, heaven knows what I should have done! Where is your baggage, Father?" "Here by now." "Here? But no, no! It must go to Curzon Street!" "My dear son, I thank you very much, but an old man is better with an old man." Tom wheeled round. "What's that? Who are you calling an old man, Maurry? I'm as young as ever I was!" "In any case, it is to Curzon Street that you come, Father." "As often as you wish, dear boy, but I'll stay with Tom." Then, as Philip prepared to argue the point, "No, Philip, my mind is made up. Sit down and tell me the tale of your ridiculous duel with Bancroft." "Oh, that!" Philip laughed. "It was amusing, but scandalous. My sympathies were with my adversary." "And what was the ode you threatened to read?" "An ode to importunate friends, especially composed for the occasion. They took it from me--Paul and Louis--oh, and Henri de Chatelin! They do not like my verse." Sir Maurice lay back in his seat and laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. "Gad, Philip, but I wish I'd been there! To hear you declaim an ode of your own making! Faith, is it really my blunt, brusque, impossible Philip?" "Not at all! It is your elegant, smooth, and wholly possible Philip!" Sir Maurice sat up again. "Ah! And does this Philip contemplate marriage?" "That," said his son, "is on the knees of the gods." "I see. Is it woe unto him who seeks to interfere?" "_Parfaitement!_" bowed Philip. "I play now--a little game." "And Cleone?" "Cleone ... I don't know. It is what I wish to find out. Lady Malmerstoke stands my friend." "Trust Sally," said Tom. Philip's eyes sparkled. "Ah, Tom, Tom, art a rogue! Father, he is in love with her ladyship!" "He always has been," answered Sir Maurice. "Even before old Malmerstoke died." Tom cleared his throat. "I--" "Then why do you not wed her?" demanded Philip. "She would not. Now she says--perhaps. We are very good friends," he added contentedly. "I doubt neither of us is at the age when one loves with heat." "Philip, how do you like Paris?" interrupted Sir Maurice. "I cannot tell you, sir! My feeling for Paris and my Paris friends is beyond all words." "Ay. I thought the same. But in the end one is glad to come home." "May it please heaven, then, to make the end far, far away," said Philip. "When I go back, you will go with me, Father." "Ah, I am too old for that now," answered Sir Maurice. He smiled reminiscently. "Too old? _Quelle absurdité!_ M. de Château-Banvau has made me swear to bring you. M. de Richelieu asked when he was to see your face again. A score--" "De Richelieu? Where did you meet him, boy?" "At Versailles. He was very kind to me for your sake." "Ay, he would be. So you went to Versailles, then!" "Often."