"I am looking," said Tom gloomily. "Ye rascal, how dare you try to steal my lady's heart away from me?" "I should be more than human an I did not!" replied Philip promptly. Lady Malmerstoke was showing the dainty roll to Sir Maurice. "An ode to my wig," she told him. "Written in French." "An ode to your what?" asked Thomas. "My wig, Tom, my wig! You were not here when we discussed it. Cleone thought it a prodigious ugly wig, but Philip would have none of it. He said such pretty things about it, and promised me an ode for it! Philip, did I thank you?" Philip was bowing over Cleone's hand. He turned. "With your eyes, madame, eloquently! But I need no thanks; it was an honour and a joy." "Think of that!" nodded my lady, looking from Tom to Sir Maurice. "Philip, come and be presented to Mistress Jennifer. Or do you know her?" Philip released Cleone's hand, and swung round. "Jennifer! Of course I know her!" He went across the room. "Why, Jenny, where do you spring from? How are you?" Jennifer gazed up at him with wide eyes. "Philip? Is--is it really--you?" she whispered. "You didn't know me? Jenny, how unkind! Surely I haven't changed as much as that?" "Y-you have," she averred. "More!" "I have not, I swear I have not! Father, go away! Let me sit here and talk to Jennifer!" Only too glad to obey, Sir Maurice rose. "He is very peremptory and autocratic, isn't he, my dear?" he smiled. Philip sank into the vacated chair. "I--I feel I ought to call you Mr. Jettan!" said Jennifer. "Jenny! If you dare to do such a thing I shall--I shall--" "What will you do?" "Write a canzonet to your big eyes!" he laughed. Jennifer blushed, and her lips trembled into a smile. "Will you really? I should like that, I think, Mr. Jettan." "It shall be ready by noon to-morrow," said Philip at once, "if you will promise not to misname me!" "But--" "Jenny, I vow I have not changed so much! 'Tis only my silly clothes!" "That's--what Clo said when I told her _she_ had changed." "Oh!" Philip shot a glance towards the unconscious Cleone. "Did she say that?" "Yes. But I think she has changed, don't you?" "_De tête en pieds_," said Philip slowly. "What is that?" Jennifer looked rather alarmed. Philip turned back to her. "That is a foolish habit, Jenny. They say I chatter French all day. Which is very affected." "French? Do you talk French now? How wonderful!" breathed Jennifer. "Say something else! Please!" "_La lumière de tes beaux yeux me pénètre jusqu'au c[oe]ur._" He bowed, smiling. "Oh! What does that mean?" "It wouldn't be good for you to know," answered Philip gravely. "Oh! but I would like to know, I think," she said naïvely. "I said that--you have very beautiful eyes." "Did you? How--how dreadful of you! And you won't forget the--the can--can--what you were going to write for me, will you?" "The canzonet. No, I think it must be a sonnet. And the flower--alas, your flower is out of season!" "Is it? What is my flower?" "A daisy."