“Cleone would never do such a thing!”

“Well, sir, you will see. Come with us this afternoon. Tom and I are bidden to take a dish of Bohea with her ladyship.”

“Sally has already asked me. I shall certainly come. Mordieu, what ails the child?” Philip rubbed some rouge on to his cheeks.

“If you can tell me the answer to that riddle, sir, I shall thank you.” “You do care, Philip? Still?” He watched Philip pick up the haresfoot with fingers that trembled a little.

“Care?” said Philip. “I-yes, sir. I care-greatly.”

Lady Malmerstoke glanced critically at her niece. “You are very gay, Clo,” she remarked.

“Gay?” cried Cleone. “How could I be sober, Aunt Sally? I am employing myself so much!” Lady Malmerstoke pushed a bracelet farther up one plump arm.

“H’m!” she said. “It’s very unfashionable, my dear, not to say bourgeois.” “Oh, fiddle!” answered Cleone. “Who thinks that?”

“I really don’t know. It is what one says. To be in the mode you must be fatigued to death.”

“Then I am not in the mode,” laughed Cleone. “Don’t forget, Aunt, that I am but a simple country maid!” She swept a mock curtsy.

“No,” said her ladyship placidly. “One is not like to forget it.” “What do you mean?” demanded Cleone.

“Don’t eat me,” sighed her aunt. “’Tis your principal charm-freshness.” “Oh!” said Cleone doubtfully.

“Or it was,” added Lady Malmerstoke, folding her hands and closing her eyes. “Was! Aunt Sally, I insist that you tell me what it is you mean!” “My love, you know very well what I mean.”

“No, I do not! I-I-Aunt Sally, wake up!” Her ladyship’s brown eyes opened.

“Well, my dear, if you must have it, ’tis this-you make yourself cheap by your flirtatious ways.”

Cleone’s cheeks flamed.

“I-oh, I don’t f-flirt! I-Auntie, how can you say so?”

“Quite easily,” said her ladyship. “Else had I left it unsaid. Since this Mr Philip Jettan has returned you have acquired all the tricks of the sex. I do not find it becoming in you, but mayhap I am wrong.”

“It has nothing to do with Ph-Mr Jettan!”

“I beg your pardon, my dear, I thought it had. But if you wish to attract him-” “Aunt!” almost shrieked Cleone.

“I wish you would not interrupt,” complained Lady Malmerstoke wearily. “I said if you wish to attract him you should employ less obvious methods.”

“H-how dare you, Aunt Sally! I wish to attract him? I hate him! I hate the very sight of him!” The sleepy brown eyes grew more alert.

“Is that the way the wind lies?” murmured Lady Malmerstoke. “What’s he done?” she added, ever practical.

“He hasn’t done anything. He-I-” “Then what hasn’t he done?”

“Aunt Sally-Aunt Sally-you-I won’t answer! He-nothing at all! ’Tis merely that I do not like him.”

“It’s not apparent in your manner,” remarked her ladyship. “Are you determined that he shall fall in love with you?”

“Of course I never thought of such a thing! I-why should I?”

“For the pleasure of seeing him at your feet, and then kicking him away. Revenge, my love, revenge.”

“How dare you say such things, Aunt! It-it isn’t true!” Lady Malmerstoke continued to pursue her own line of thought.

“From all I can see of this Philip, he’s not the man to be beaten by a chit of a girl. I think he is in love with you. Have a care, my dear. Men with chins like his are not safe. I’ve had experience, and I know. He’ll win in the end, if he has a mind to do so.” “Mind!” Cleone was scornful. “He has no mind above clothes or poems!” Lady Malmerstoke eyed her lazily.

“Who told you that, Clo?”

“No one. I can see for myself!”

“There’s nothing blinder than a very young woman,” philosophised her ladyship. “One lives and one learns. Your Philip-”

“He isn’t my Philip!” cried Cleone, nearly in tears.

“You put me out,” complained her aunt. “Your Philip is no fool. He’s dangerous. On account of that chin, you understand. Don’t have him, my dear; he’s one of your masterful men. They are the worst; old Jeremy Fletcher was like that. Dear me, what years ago that was!” “He-he’s no more masterful than-than his uncle!”

“No, thank heaven, Tom’s an easy-going creature,” agreed her aunt. “A pity Philip is not the

same.”

“But I tell you he is! If-if he were more masterful I should like him better! I like a man to be a man and not-a-a pranked-out doll!”

“How you have changed!” sighed her aunt. “I thought that was just what you did not want. Didn’t you send your Philip away to become a beau?”

“He is not my Philip-Aunt! I-no, of course I did-didn’t. And if I d-did, it was very st-stupid of me, and now I’d rather have a-a masterful man.”

“Ay, we’re all like that in our youth,” nodded her aunt. “When you grow older you’ll appreciate the milder sort. I nearly married Jerry Fletcher. Luckily I changed my mind and had Malmerstoke. God rest his soul, poor fellow! Now, I shall have Tom, I suppose.” Cleone broke into a hysterical laugh.

“Aunt, you are incorrigible! How can you talk so?”

“Dreadful, isn’t it? But I was always like that. Very attractive, you know. I never was beautiful, but I made a great success. I quite shocked my poor mother. But it was all a pose, of course. It made me noticed. I was so amusing and novel-like you, my love, but in a different way. All a pose.”

“Why, is it still a pose, Aunt?”

“Oh, now it’s a habit. So much less fatiguing, my dear. But to return to what I was saying, you-”

“Don’t-don’t let’s talk-about me,” begged Cleone unsteadily. “I-hardly know what possesses me, but-Oh, there’s the bell!”

Lady Malmerstoke dragged herself up.

“Already? Clo, is my wig on straight? Drat the men, I’ve not had a wink of sleep the whole afternoon. A nice hag I shall look to-night. Which of them is it, my dear?” Cleone was peering out of the window.

“’Tis James and Jennifer, Aunt.” She came back into the room. “It seems an age since I saw Jenny.”

Lady Malmerstoke studied herself in her little mirror. “Is she the child who lives down in the country?”

“Yes-Jenny Winton, such a sweet little thing. She has come up with Mr Winton for a few weeks. I am so glad she managed to induce him to bring her!” Cleone ran forward as the two Wintons were ushered in. “Jenny, dear!”

Jennifer was half a head shorter than Cleone, a shy child with soft grey eyes and mouse-coloured hair. She flung her arms round Cleone’s neck. “Oh, Clo, how prodigious elegant you look!” she whispered.

“And oh, Jenny, how pretty you look!” retorted Cleone. “Aunt Sally, this is my dear Jennifer!” Jennifer curtsied.

“How do you do, ma’am?” she said in a voice fluttering with nervousness. “I am very well, child. Come and sit down beside me.” She patted the couch invitingly. “Is this your first visit to town, my dear?”

Jennifer sat down on the edge of the couch. She stole an awed glance at Lady Malmerstoke’s powdered wig.

“Yes, ma’am. It is so exciting.”

“I’ll warrant it is! And have you been to many balls, yet?”

“N-no.” The little face clouded over. “Papa does not go out very much,” she explained. Cleone sank on to a stool beside them, her silks swirling about her.

“Oh, Auntie, please take Jenny to the Bering ball next week!” she said impulsively. “You will come, won’t you, sweet?”

Jennifer blushed and stammered.

“To be sure,” nodded her ladyship. “Of course she will come! James, sit down! You should know by now how the sight of anyone on their feet fatigues me, silly boy! Dear me, child, how like you are to your brother! Are you looking at my wig? Monstrous, isn’t it?” Jennifer was covered with confusion.

“Oh, no, ma’am, I-”

Her ladyship chuckled.

“Of; course you were. How could you help it? Cleone tells me it is a ridiculous creation, don’t you, my love?”

“I do, and I truly think it!” answered Cleone, her eyes dancing. “’Tis is just a little more impossible than the last.”

“There!” Lady Malmerstoke turned back to Jennifer. “She is an impertinent hussy, is she not?”

“Could she be impertinent?” asked James fondly. “Very easily she could, and is,” nodded her ladyship. “A minx.” “Oh!” Jennifer was shocked.

“Don’t attend to her!” besought Cleone. “Sometimes she is very ill-natured, as you see.” Jennifer ventured a very small laugh. She had resolutely dragged her eyes from the prodigious wig, and was now gazing at Cleone.

“You-you seem quite different,” she told her. Cleone shook her golden head.

“’Tis only that Aunt Sally has tricked me out in fine clothes,” she replied. “I’m-oh, I am the same!” she laughed, but not very steadily. “Am I not, James?”

“Always the same,” he said ardently. “Always beautiful.”

“I will not have it,” said Lady Malmerstoke severely. “You’ll turn the child’s head, if ’tis not turned already.”

“Oh, it is, it is!” cried Cleone. “I am quite too dreadfully vain! And there is the bell again! James, who is it? It’

s vastly bad-mannered to peep, but you may do it. Quick!” James went to the window.

“Too late,” he said. “They are in, whoever they are.”

“’Twill be Thomas,” decided Lady Malmerstoke. “I wonder if he is any fatter?” Jennifer giggled. She had never met anything quite like this queer, voluminous old lady before.

“Is-is Sir Maurice coming?” she inquired.

“I told him to be sure to come,” answered her ladyship. “You know him, don’t you?” “Oh, yes!” breathed Jennifer.

“Sah Maurice and Mr. Jettan,” announced the little black page.

“Drat!” said her ladyship. She rose. “Where’s your son?” she demanded, shaking her finger at Sir Maurice.

Sir Maurice kissed her hand.

“Sally, you grow ruder and ruder,” he reproved her.

“Maurice,” she retorted, “you were ever a punctilious ramrod. Philip’s the only one of you I want to see. He says such audacious things,” she explained. “So gratifying to an old woman. Well, Tom?”

Thomas bowed very low. “Well, Sally?”

“That’s not polite,” she said. “You can see I am very well. I declare you are growing thinner!” Thomas drew himself up sheepishly.

“Am I, my dear?”

Her ladyship gave a little crow of delight.

“You’ve been taking exercise!” she exclaimed. “If you continue at this rate-I vow I’ll marry you in a month!”

“I wish you would, my dear,” said Tom seriously.

“Oh, I shall one day, never fear!” She caught sight of Jennifer’s astonished expression and chuckled. “Now, Tom, behave yourself! You are shocking the child!” she whispered. “I? What have I done? She’s shocked at your forwardness!”

Sir Maurice had walked over to Cleone. She held out her hands, and he made as if to kiss them. She snatched them back.

“Oh, no, no!” she cried. “Sir Maurice!” He smiled down at her upturned face.

“In truth, my dear, you’ve so changed from the little Cleone I know that I dare take no liberties.”

Her mouth quivered suddenly; she caught at the lapels of his coat. “No, no, don’t say it, sir! I am the same! Oh I am, I am!”

“What’s Cleone doing?” inquired Lady Malmerstoke. “Kissing Maurice? Now who’s forward?”

Cleone smiled through her tears.

“You are, Aunt Sally. And you are in a very teasing humour!” Sir Maurice pressed her hands gently. He turned to the curtsying Jennifer. “Why, Jenny? This is a surprise! How are you, child?”

“Very well, I thank you, sir,” she answered. “Very happy to be in London.” “The first visit! Where are you staying?”

“With Grandmamma, out at Kensington,” she said. Lady Malmerstoke clutched Tom’s arm.

“Kensington, poor child!” she murmured. “For heaven’s sake everyone sit down! No, Maurice, that chair is too low for me. I’ll take the couch.” She proceeded to do so. As a matter of course, Tom sat down beside her. The others arranged themselves in two pairs, Sir Maurice leading Jennifer to a chair near the fire, and Cleone going to the window seat with the admiring James.

Five minutes later the bell rang for the third time, and Jennifer received the worst shock of the afternoon. The page announced Mr Philip Jettan, and Philip came into the room. Sir Maurice felt Jennifer’s start of surprise, and saw her stare past him as though she saw at least three ghosts.

Philip went to his hostess and dropped on one knee to kiss her hand. He was dressed in puce and old gold. Jennifer thought she had never seen anything so gorgeous, or so astonishing. She did not believe for a moment that it was her old playfellow, Philip. “Madame, I am late!” said Philip. “I ask a thousand pardons!”

“And you are sure you’ll receive them!” chuckled her ladyship. “I’d give them, but that it would fatigue me so. Where’s that ode? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten it!”

“Forgotten it! Never! It is a very beautiful ode, too, in my best style. Le voici,’” He handed her a rolled parchment sheet, tied with mauve ribbons, and with violets cunningly inserted. “You delightful boy!” cried her ladyship, inspecting it “Violets! How did you know they were my favourite flowers?”