Philip dealt out the cards.
"I will tell you. A hand of piquet? You will declare?" Bancroft sorted his hand rather sullenly. Not until he had declared and played his card did Philip speak again. Then he took the trick and leaned forward.
"It comes to my ears that you have been bandying a certain lady's name about Paris in a way that does not please me. You understand, yes?"
"What the devil is it to you?" cried Bancroft, crimson-faced.
"Sh, sh! Not so loud, if you please! Go on playing! I am informed that you speak of this lady as a pretty piece! It is not how I will have you speak of her. Also, you say that she fell in love with you en désespéré. Eh bien, I say that you lie in your throat!"
"Sir!"
"Doucement, doucement. Further, I say that if so be you again mention this lady's name in public I shall send my lackeys to punish you. It is understood?"
"You—you—you impudent young cockerel! I shall know how to answer this! What's Cleone to you, eh?"
The pleasant smile died. Philip leaned forward.
"That name I will not have spoken, m'sieur. Strive to bear it in mind. I have many friends, and they will tell me if you speak of the lady when I am not by. And of the rest I have warned you."