"Yes, Cleone. Before you sent me away I was honest with you. When I came back, no. I wished to see whether you wanted me as I was, or as I pretended to be. You foiled me. Now I am again honest with you. I say that I love you, and I want you to be my wife." * * * * * "You say that you love me...." Cleone tapped her fan on her knee. "Perhaps you will continue to be honest with me, sir. Am I the only one you have loved?" "You are the only one." The blue eyes flashed. "And what of the ladies of the French Court, Mr. Jettan? What of a certain duel you fought with a French husband? You can explain that, no doubt?" Philip was silent for a moment, frowning. "So the news of that absurd affair reached you, Cleone?" She laughed, clenching her teeth. "Oh, yes, sir! It reached me. A pity, was it not?" "A great pity, Cleone, if on that gossip you judge me." "Ah! There was no truth in the tale?" Suppressed eagerness was in her voice. "I will be frank with you. A certain measure of truth there was. M. de Foli-Martin thought himself injured. It was not so." "And why should he think so, sir?" "Presumably because I paid court to madame, his wife." "Yes?" Cleone spoke gently, dangerously. "You paid court to madame. No doubt she was very lovely?" "Very." Philip was nettled. "As lovely, perhaps, as Mademoiselle de Marcherand, of whom I have heard, or as Mistress Ann Nutley yonder? Or as lovely as Jennifer?" Philip took a false step. "Cleone, surely you are not jealous of little Jenny?" he cried. She drew herself up. "Jealous? What right have I to be jealous? You are nothing to me, Mr. Jettan! I confess that once I--liked you. You have changed since then. You cannot deny that you have made love to a score of beautiful women since you left home. I do not blame you for that. You are free to do as you please. What I will not support is that you should come to me with your proposal, having shown me during the time that you have spent in England that I am no more to you than Ann Nutley, or Julie de Marcherand. 'To the Pearl that Trembles in her Ear,' was it not? Very pretty, sir. And now I intrigue you for the moment. I cannot consider myself flattered, Mr. Jettan." Philip had grown pale under his paint. "Cleone, you wrong me! It is true that I have trifled harmlessly with those ladies. It is the fashion--the fashion you bade me follow. There has never been aught serious betwixt any woman and me. That I swear!" "You probably swore the same to M. de Foli-Martin?" "When I had given him the satisfaction he craved, yes." "I suppose he believed you?" "No." Philip bit his lip. "No? Then will you tell me, sir, how it is that you expect me to believe what M. de Foli-Martin--closely concerned--would not believe?" Philip looked straight into her eyes. "I can only give you my word, Cleone." Still she fought on, wishing to be defeated. "So you have never trifled with any of these women, sir?" Philip was silent again.