"And he brought it himself, yesterday morning, tied with snowdrops. I don't know how he got them, for they are over, are they not, Clo? But there they were, with the prettiest verse you can imagine. It said my eyes were twin pools of grey! Isn't that beautiful?" Cleone jerked one shoulder.
"It is not very original," she said.
"Don't you like it?" asked Jennifer reproachfully.
Cleone was ashamed of her flash of ill-humour.
"Yes, dear, of course I do. So Mr. Jettan brought it to you himself, did he?"
"Indeed, yes! And stayed a full hour, talking to Papa and to me. What do you think? He has begged me to be sure and dance with him on Wednesday! Is it not kind of him?"
"Very," said Cleone dully.
"I cannot imagine why he should want them," Jennifer prattled on. "Jamie says he is at Mistress Nutley's feet. Is she very lovely, Clo?"
"I don't know. Yes, I suppose she is."
"Philip is teaching me to speak French. It is so droll, and he laughs at my accent. Can you speak French, Clo?"
"A little. No doubt he would laugh at my accent if he ever heard it."
"Oh, I do not think so! He could not, could he? Clo, I asked if he did not think you were very beautiful, and he said—"
"Jenny, you must not ask things like that!"
"He did not mind! Truly, he did not! He just laughed—he is always laughing, Clo!—and said that there was no one who did not think so. Was not that neat?"
"Very," said Cleone.
Jennifer drew nearer.
"Cleone, may I tell you a secret?"
A fierce pain shot through Cleone.
"A secret? What is it?" she asked quickly.
"Why, Clo, how strange you look! 'Tis only that I know James to be in love with—you!"
Cleone sank back. She started to laugh from sheer relief.
"I do not see that it is funny," said Jennifer, hurt.
"No, no, dear! It—it is not that—I mean, of course, of course, I knew that James was—was—fond of me."
"Did you? Oh—oh, are you going to marry him?" Jennifer's voice squeaked with excitement.
"Jenny, you ask such dreadful questions! No, I am not."
"But—but he loves you, Clo! Don't you love him?"
"Not like that. James only thinks he loves me. He's too young. I—Tell me about your dress, dear!"
"For the ball?" Jennifer sat up, nothing loth. "'Tis of white silk—"
"Sir Deryk Brenderby!"
Jennifer started.
"Oh, dear!" she said regretfully.
A tall, loose-limbed man came in.
"Fair Mistress Cleone! I am happy, indeed, to have found you in! I kiss your hands, dear lady!"
Cleone drew them away, smiling.
"Mistress Jennifer Winton, Sir Deryk."
Brenderby seemed to become suddenly aware of Jenny's presence. He bowed. Jennifer curtseyed demurely, and took refuge behind her friend.
Sir Deryk lowered himself into a chair.
"Mistress Cleone, can you guess why I have come?"
"To see me!" said Cleone archly.
"That is the obvious, fair tormentor! Another reason had I."
"The first should be enough, sir," answered Cleone, with downcast eyes.
"And is, Most Beautiful. But the other reason concerns you also."
"La! You intrigue me, sir! Pray, what is it?"
"To beg, on my knees, that you will dance with me on Wednesday!"
"Oh, I don't know!" Cleone shook her head. "I doubt all the dances are gone."
"Ah, no, dearest lady! Not all!"
"Indeed, I think so! I cannot promise anything."
"But you give me hope?"
"I will not take it from you," said Cleone. "Perhaps Jennifer will give you a dance."
Sir Deryk did not look much elated. But he bowed to Jennifer.
"May that happiness be mine, madam?"
"Th—thank you," stammered Jennifer. "If you please!"
Sir Deryk bowed again and straightway forgot her existence.
"You wear my primroses, fairest!" he said to Cleone. "I scarce dared to hope so modest a posy would be so honoured."
Cleone glanced down at the pale yellow blooms.
"Oh, are they yours? I had forgot," she said cruelly.
"Ah, Cleone!"
Cleone raised her brows.
"My name, sir?"
"Mistress Cleone," corrected Brenderby, bowing.
Lady Malmerstoke chose that moment at which to billow into the room. She leaned on the arm of one Mr. Jettan.
"Philip, you are a sad fellow! You do not mean one word of what you say! Oh, lud! I have chanced on a reception. Give ye good den, Jenny, my dear. Sir Deryk? Thus early in the morning? I think you know Mr. Jettan?"
The two men bowed.
"I have the pleasure, Lady Malmerstoke," said Brenderby. "I did not see you last night, Jettan? You were not at Gregory's card-party?"
"Last night?—last night? No, I was at White's with my father. Mademoiselle, your very obedient! Et la petite!"
"Bonjour, monsieur!" ventured Jennifer shyly.
Philip swept her a leg.
"Mademoiselle a fait des grands progrès," he said.
She wrinkled her brow.
"Great—progress?" she hazarded.
"Of course! And how is mademoiselle?"
"Very well, I thank you, sir."
Lady Malmerstoke sank into a large armchair.
"Well, I trust I don't intrude?" she remarked. "Clo, where is my embroidery?" She turned to her guests. "I never set a stitch, of course. It would fatigue me too much. But it looks industrious to have it by me, doesn't it?"
Cleone and Brenderby had walked to the table in search of the missing embroidery. Cleone looked over her shoulder.
"You must not believe what she says," she told them. "Aunt Sarah embroiders beautifully. She is not nearly as lazy as she would have you think."
"Not lazy, my love—indolent. A much nicer word. Thank you, my dear." She received her stitchery and laid it down. "I will tell you all a secret. Oh, Philip knows! Philip, you need not listen."
Philip was perched on a chair-arm.
"A million thanks, Aunt!"
"That is very unkind of you!" she reproached him. "You tell my secret before ever I have time to say a word!"
&............