"And then we have a household bien tenu. It is our poor Jacques who could not support an Englishman in the house."
"I hope I am not to be excluded?" smiled Philip.
"M'sieur se moque de moi! Is it that m'sieur is English? M'sieur is tout comme un Français." He bustled away, full of importance.
The cousin was forthcoming, a stout, good-tempered soul, who rejoiced in the name of Marie-Guillaume. François exhibited him with pride, and he was engaged. That ended all Philip's responsibility. François gathered up the reins of government, and in a week they were installed in Curzon Street. Philip had done no more than say that he wished to enter his new abode on Thursday. On Thursday he went out to Ranelagh; when he returned to Half-Moon Street he found that his baggage had gone. He took his leave of Tom, and walked up the road and round the corner, into Curzon Street. His house was as neat as a new pin; his baggage was unpacked; François was complacent. They might have lived in the house for months; there was no disorder, no fuss, none of the slow settling down. François, Jacques and Marie-Guillaume had fitted into their respective niches in one short hour. Philip was moved to inform François that he was a treasure.
That evening he went to a ball given by the Duchess of Queensberry. And there he met Cleone, for the first time since his return to England.
The Duchess welcomed him effusively, for already Philip was a persona grata in Society, and much sought after by hostesses. Tom had lost no time in introducing him to the Fashionable World. The ladies were captivated by his French air, and ogled him shamelessly. Then men found that he was, for all his graces, singularly modest and unaffected at heart, and they extended the hand of friendship towards him. People began to look for him, and to be disappointed if he were absent.
Until now, however, Philip had seen nothing of Cleone, but on all sides he had heard of her. She was, he learned, London's newest beauty.
She was dancing when Philip saw her first, smiling up at her partner with blue eyes that seemed bluer than ever, and lips that lay in a happy curve. Her golden hair was unpowdered and piled in curls upon the top of her head. Philip thought she was more beautiful than ever.
He stood apart, watching her. She had not seen him; she was not even thinking of him; those eyes were clear and joyous. Who was her partner? Brainless-looking fool! Simpering ninny! Ay, that was all she cared for! Philip's hand clenched slowly on his snuff-box.