"Silly young fool! You gave him his just deserts, Cleone. And you may vouch for it that he will be back here at your feet in a very short while."
Cleone glanced up through her lashes.
"Do you really think so?" she asked eagerly.
"Of course I do!" he answered stoutly.
Just then a bell clanged somewhere in the distance. Cleone jumped up and ran to the window which looked out on the avenue. She tip-toed, craning her neck to see who stood in the porch.
"Why, it is Sir Harold Bancroft!" she exclaimed.
"Plague take him, then!" said Sir Maurice, disagreeably. "I can't stand the fellow or his sprig of a son!"
Cleone blushed and continued to stand with her back to the room until footsteps sounded along the passage, and the door opened to admit the visitor.
Sir Maurice rose.
"Give ye good den, Bancroft. It's good of you to come to visit me this cold day."