Sir Maurice leaned forward, striking his fist on his knee. “But she is not that type of woman, Philip! That’s what I can’t understand!” Philip shrugged slightly.
“She is not, you say? I wonder now whether that is so. She flirted before, you remember, with Bancroft.”
“Ay! To tease you!”
“Cela se peut. This time it is not to tease me. That I know.” “But, Philip, if it is not for that, why does she do it?”
“Presumably because she so wishes. It is possible that the adulation she receives has flown to her head. It is almost as though she sought to captivate me.”
“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.