"You have been long in town, mademoiselle? You find all this very fatiguing, no doubt?" He waved a languid hand.
Indignation was dispersing the numbness. How dared Philip drawl at her like this? How dared he behave as though they were strangers?
"I have been in London nigh on a month. I do not find it fatiguing at all. I enjoy it."
Slowly the straight brows rose.
"But how refreshing!" said Philip. "When everyone is ennuyé à l'agonie, how delightful to meet one who frankly enjoys." He looked at her admiringly. "And enjoyment becomes you better than boredom becomes other women."
Cleone felt that she was drifting further and further into the nightmare.
"I am happy to find favour in your eyes, sir. When did you return from Paris?"
"A fortnight since. In a fog which chilled me to the marrow. Almost I fled back to France. But now"—he bowed gracefully—"I thank a kindly Fate which forbade me to retreat thus precipitately."
"Indeed?" said Cleone tartly. "How do you find Sir Maurice?"
"As yet I have not found him," replied Philip. There was a laugh at the back of his eyes. How dared he laugh at her? "I have written to beg him to honour my house with his presence."