Sir Maurice straightened himself. He sighed.
"An old fool, eh, Tom? But it cut me to the quick, that letter."
"Of course it did, the young devil! Oh, Maurry, Maurry, ye never saw the like of our Philip!"
"Is he so remarkable? I heard about that absurd duel, as I told you. There'll be a reckoning between him and Cleone."
"Ay. That's what I don't understand. The pair of them are playing a queer game. Old Sally Malmerstoke told me that Cleone vows she hates Philip. The chit is flirting outrageously with every man who comes--always under Philip's nose. And Philip laughs. Yet I'll swear he means to have her. I don't interfere. They must work out their own quarrel."
"Clo doesn't hate Philip," said Sir Maurice. "She was pining for him until that fool Bancroft read us Satterthwaite's letter. Was it true that Philip fought over some French hussy?"
"No, over Clo herself. But he says naught, and if the truth were told, I believe it's because he has had _affaires_ in Paris, even if that was not one. He's too dangerously popular."
"So it seemed from Satterthwaite's account. Is he so popular? I cannot understand it."
"He's novel, y'see. I'd a letter from Château-Banvau the other day, mourning the loss of _ce cher petit_ Philippe, and demanding whether he had found his heart or no!"
"By Gad, if Philip's so great a success, it's--it's more than ever I expected," he ended lamely.
"Wait till you see him!" smiled Thomas. "The boy's for all the world like a bit o' quicksilver. He splutters out French almost every time he opens his mouth, and--here he is!"
A door banged loudly outside, and a clear, crisp voice floated into the library from the hall.
"_Mordieu_, what a climate! Moggat, you rogue, am I not depressed enough without your glum face to make me more so? Smile, _vieux crétin_, for the love of God!"
"Were I to call Moggat one-half of the names Philip bestows on him, he'd leave me," remarked Tom. "With him, Philip can do no wrong. Now what's to do?"
"_Doucement, malheureux!_ Gently, I say! Do you wish to pull my arms off with the coat? _Ah, voilà!_ Spread it to dry, Moggat, and take care not to crease it. Yes, that is well!"
Then came Moggat's voice, very self-conscious.
There was a sound of hand-clapping, and an amused laugh.