François endured the detestable Moggat for a week. He was then rewarded
for his patience by the news that Philip was shortly to move into a
small house in Curzon Street, which belonged to a friend of Tom. This
gentleman consented to let his house for the space of two months, as he
was going abroad for that time. Philip went to inspect the prospective
abode, and found it to be furnished in excellent style. He closed with
its owner and went back to Half-Moon Street to break the joyful news to
François. From that moment the excitable valet's spirits soared high.
He would manage the affairs of the house for M'sieur; he would find
M'sieur a _chef_. Philip was content to waive responsibility. François
sallied forth with the air of one about to conquer, to find, so he told
Philip, the son of his aunt, a very fair _chef_ and a good _garçon_.
Philip had no idea that François possessed any relations, much less
one in London. When he said this, François looked very waggish, and
admitted that he himself had forgotten the existence of this cousin
until the moment when M'sieur told him of the new home.
"Then, _subitement_, I remember, for m'sieur will require a _chef_ is
it not so?"
"Assuredly," said Philip. "But your cousin may not wish to take service
with me, in which case I shall seek an English cook."
"An English cook? Ah, bah! Is it that I would permit m'sieur to be so
ill served? No! M'sieur shall have a French _chef, bien sûr_. What does
an Englishman know of the _cuisine_? Is m'sieur to be insulted by the
tasteless, watery vegetables of such as the wife of Moggat? No! I go to
find my cousin!"
"Very well," said Philip.
"And then we have a household _bien tenu_. It is our poor Jacques who
could not support an Englishman in the house."
"I hope I am not to be excluded?" smiled Philip.
"_M'sieur se moque de moi!_ Is it that m'sieur is English? M'sieur is
_tout comme un Français_." He bustled away, full of importance.
The cousin was forthcoming, a stout, good-tempered soul, who rejoiced
in the name of Marie-Guillaume. François exhibited him with pride,
and he was engaged. That ended all Philip's responsibility. François
gathered up the reins of government, and in a week they were installed
in Curzon Street. Philip had done no more than say that he wished to
enter his new abode on Thursday. On Thursday he went out to Ranelagh;
when he returned to Half-Moon Street he found that his baggage had
gone. He took his leave of Tom, and walked up the road and round the
corner, into Curzon Street. His house was as neat as a new pin; his
baggage was unpacked; François was complacent. They might have lived in
the house for months; there was no disorder, no fuss, none of the slow
settling down. François, Jacques and Marie-Guillaume had fitted into
their respective niches in one short hour. Philip was moved to inform
François that he was a treasure.
That evening he went to a ball given by the Duchess of Queensberry. And
there he met Cleone, for the first time since his return to England.
The Duchess welcomed him effusively, for already Philip was a _persona
grata_ in Society, and much sought after by hostesses. Tom had lost
no time in introducing him to the Fashionable World. The ladies were
captivated by his French air, and ogled him shamelessly. Then men found
that he was, for all his graces, singularly modest and unaffected at
heart, and they extended the hand of friendship towards him. People
began to look for him, and to be disappointed if he were absent.
Until now, however, Philip had seen nothing of Cleone, but on all sides
he had heard of her. She was, he learned, London's newest beauty.
* * * * *
She was dancing when Philip saw her first, smiling up at her partner
with blue eyes that seemed bluer than ever, and lips that lay in a
happy curve. Her golden hair was unpowdered and piled in curls upon the
top of her head. Philip thought she was more beautiful than ever.
He stood apart, watching her. She had not seen him; she was not even
thinking of him; those eyes were clear and joyous. Who was her partner?
Brainless-looking fool! Simpering ninny! Ay, that was all she cared
for! Philip's hand clenched slowly on his snuff-box.
"Aha, Jettan! You have espied the lovely Cleone?"
Philip turned. Lord Charles Fairfax stood at his elbow.
"Yes," he said.
"But how stern and forbidding!" exclaimed Fairfax. "What ails you?"
Philip's mouth lost its hard line.
"I am struck dumb," he answered gaily. "Can you wonder at it?"
"So are we all. She is very beautiful, is she not?"
"Ravishing!" agreed Philip. He saw Cleone's partner lead her to a
chair. "Will you present me?"
"What! And destroy my own chances? We have heard of your killing ways
with the fair sex!"
"I protest I have been maligned!" cried Philip. "I do implore your
mercy! Present me!"
"Against my will, then!" said his lordship roguishly. He walked forward
to where Cleone sat.
"Mistress Cleone, have you no smile for the humblest of your admirers?"
Cleone turned her head.
"Oh, Lord Charles! Give you good even, sir! Do you know you have not
been near me the whole evening? I am monstrous hurt, I assure you!"
"Dear lady, how was I to come near you?" protested Fairfax. "Until this
moment you have been surrounded."
Cleone gave a happy little laugh.
"I am sure 'tis untrue, sir! You delight in teasing me!" Her eyes
wandered past him to Philip.
Fairfax drew him forward.
"Mistress Cleone, may I present one who is newly come from Paris, and
is, he swears, struck dumb by your beauty? Mr. Jettan, of whom we all
know some naughty tales!"
The colour drained from Cleone's cheeks. She felt faint all at once,
and her fingers gripped together over her fan. For one moment she
thought she must be mistaken. This was not Philip, this foppish
gentleman who stood bowing so profoundly! Heavens, he was speaking! It
_was_ Philip! How could she mistake that square chin?
"Mademoiselle, this is a scarce-hoped-for honour," he said. "I have
watched and I have hungered. Lord Charles took pity on me, for which I
shall never cease to thank him."
Cleone tried to answer, and failed. Dazedly she stared at him, from
the powdered curls of his wig to the diamond buckles on his shoes.
Philip! _Philip!_ Philip in stiff silks and laces! Philip patched and
painted! Philip with jewels scattered about his person, and polished
nails! Was she dreaming? This foppish gentleman her blunt Philip? It
was incredible, impossible! What was he saying now?
"I little thought to find you here, mademoiselle! You are with Madame
Charteris, no doubt?"
Cleone collected her scattered wits. An awful numbness was stealing
over her.
"No, I--I am with my aunt, Lady Malmerstoke," she answered.
"Lady Malmerstoke?..." Philip raised his quizzing-glass with one
delicate white hand, and through it scanned the room. "Ah yes, the lady
in the apple-green toilette! I remember her well, that lady."
"Oh--do you--do you know her?" asked Cleone. She could not drag her
eyes from his face.
"I had the felicity of meeting her some nights ago. I forget where."
"R--really?" Cleone decided that this was a nightmare.
Philip sat down beside her.
"You have been long in town, mademoiselle? You find all this very
fatiguing, no doubt?" He waved a languid hand.
Indignation was dispersing the numbness. How dared Philip drawl at her
like this? How dared he behave as though they were strangers?
"I have been in London nigh on a month. I do not find it fatiguing at
all. I enjoy it."
Slowly the straight brows rose.
"But how refreshing!" said Philip. "When everyone is _ennuyé_ à
_l'agonie_, how delightful to meet one who frankly enjoys." He looked
at her admiringly. "And enjoyment becomes you better than boredom
becomes other women."
Cleone felt that she was drifting further and further into the
nightmare.
"I am happy to find favour in your eyes, sir. When did you return from
Paris?"
"A fortnight since. In a fog which chilled me to the marrow. Almost I
fled back to France. But now"--he bowed gracefully--"I thank a kindly
Fate which forbade me to retreat thus precipitately."
"Indeed?" said Cleone tartly. "How do you find Sir Maurice?"
"As yet I have not found him," replied Philip. There was a laugh at the
back of his eyes. How dared he laugh at her? "I have written to beg him
to honour my house with his presence."
"You do not propose to go to him?" Cleone's voice trembled.
Philip started.
"Mademoiselle speaks _en plaisantant_? The country in this weather?" He
shuddered.
"I see," said Cleone, and thought that she spoke the truth. Her foot
tapped the ground angrily. Philip eyed it through his glass.
"That little foot ..." he said softly. It was withdrawn. "Ah, cruel! It
inspired me with--I think--a madrigal. Cased in silver satin.... Ah!"
"It pleases you to make merry of my foot, sir?"
"_Jamais de ma vie!_" Philip threw out his hands. "It is neither food
for merriment nor sighs. It is food for pure joy. My eye, _chère
mademoiselle_, is susceptible to beauty, be it beauty of face, or
beauty of foot; the eye whispers to the brain, and a madrigal blossoms.
I dare swear you have listened to an hundred such? Everywhere I have
heard tell of your conquests until I am nigh dead with jealousy."
"How very absurd!" tittered Cleone.
"Absurd? Ah, if I could think that!"
"I do not understand you, sir!"
"I can only beg that I, too, may worship at those little feet."
"Mr. Jettan, I can only beg that you will cease to make yourself
ridiculous."
"If it is ridiculous to adore, then must I refuse to obey you, fairest.
For the sake of one smile, all would I do, save that which is without
my power."
Cleone's eyes glittered.
"You have become very adept at flattery, sir."
"But no! Flattery shall never be among my accomplishments, even were it
necessary, which here"--he smiled ardently--"it most assuredly is not."
"You surprise me, sir! I thought Paris to be the home of flattery."
"_On l'a diffamée._ Paris teaches appreciation."
"La!" Cleone, too, could be affected. "You go too deep for me, Mr.
Jettan! I fear I am no match for your wit. I am but newly come from the
country." The words bit.
"It is almost inconceivable," he said, studying her with the air of a
connoisseur.
"Almost as inconceivable as the fact that little more than six months
ago you despised all this!" She made a gesture with her fan towards his
shimmering coat.
"Was it only six months? It seems to belong to another life. You
remember so well, mademoiselle."
"I?" Cleone saw her mistake, and made haste to cover it. "No, sir. It
is dear Sir Maurice who remembers." Her eyes sought his face for some
change of expression. But not an eyelash flickered; Mr. Jettan was
still smiling.
"Now I am desolated!" he sighed. "Mademoiselle Cleone does not remember
the manner of my going? But I see that it is so. She is blessed with
forgetfulness."
Cleone's heart leaped. Was there a note of _pique_, of hurt, in the
smooth voice?
"My memory is not of the longest either, mademoiselle, but I am sure
that I am indebted to you."
"Really? I think you must be mistaken, sir."
"It is possible," he bowed. "Yet I seem to recollect that 'twas you who
bade me go--to learn to be a gentleman."
Cleone laughed carelessly.
"Did I?--It is so long ago, I have forgotten. And--and here is Mr.
Winton come to claim me!"
Philip glanced round quickly. Young James Winton was threading his way
towards them. Philip sprang up.
"James!" He held out his hands to the puzzled youth. "You have
forgotten, James? And it is, so Mademoiselle tells me, but six months
since I saw you every day."
Winton stared. Then suddenly he grasped Philip's jewelled hand.
"Jettan--Philip! Merciful heavens, man, is it indeed you?"
"He is quite transformed, is he not?" said Cleone lightly. A little
barb was piercing her heart that Philip should show such pleasure at
seeing James, and merely bored affectation with her.
Philip's gay laugh rang out.
"I shall write a sonnet in melancholy vein," he promised. "A sonnet to
"Friends Who Knew Me Not." It will be a _chef-d'[oe]uvre_, and I shall
send it you tied with a sprig of myrtle."
Winton stepped back the better to observe him.
"Thunder and turf, tis marvellous! What's this about a sonnet? Don't
tell me ye have turned poet!"
"In Paris they do not love my verses," mourned Philip. "They would say,
'No, _le petit Philippe se trompe_.' But you shall see! Where are you
staying?"
"With Darchit--in Jermyn Street. I came to London in my lady's train."
He bowed to Cleone.
Philip's eyes narrowed.
"Aha! James, you will come to a card-party that I am giving to-morrow?
I am at 14 Curzon Street."
"Thank you very much, I shall be delighted. Have you set up a house of
your own?"
"Sir Humphrey Grandcourt has hired his house to me for a month or so.
My _ménage_ will amuse you. I am ruled by my valet, the redoubtable
François."
"A French valet!"
"But yes! He would allow no English servant to insult me with his
boorishness, so I have his cousin for _chef_." He threw a laughing
glance at Cleone. "You would smile, Mademoiselle, could you but hear
his so fierce denunciation of the English race."
Cleone forced a laugh.
"I suppose he does not regard you as English, Mr. Jettan?"
"If I suggest such a thing he accuses me of mocking him. Ah, there is
Miss Florence who beckons me! Mademoiselle will excuse me?" He bowed
with a great flourish. "I shall hope to be allowed to wait on madame,
your aunt. James, do not forget! To-morrow at 14 Curzon Street!" He
swept round on his heel and went quickly to where Mistress Florence
Farmer was seated. Cleone watched him kiss the lady's plump hand, and
saw the ogling glances that Florence sent him. Desperately she sought
to swallow the lump in her throat. She started to flirt with the
adoring James. Out of the corner of his eye Philip watched her.
* * * * *
Scalding tears dropped on to Cleone's pillow that night. Philip had
returned, indifferent, _blasé_, even scornful! Philip who had once
loved her so dearly, Philip who had once been so strong and masterful,
was now a dainty, affected Court gallant. Why, why had she sent him
away? And, oh, how dared he treat her with that mocking admiration?
Suddenly Cleone sat up.
"I hate him!" she told the bed-post. "I hate him, and hate him, and
hate him."
* * * * *
Philip was smiling when François disrobed him, a smile that held much
of tenderness.
"_Cela marche_," decided François. "I go to have a mistress."