Sir Maurice drew his hands away. He took Philip's chin in his long fingers and forced his head up. Silently he scrutinised his son's face. Then he smiled.
"You patched and painted puppy-dog," he mimicked softly.
Philip laughed. His hands found Sir Maurice's again and gripped hard.
"Alack, too true! Father, you're looking older."
"Impudent young scapegrace! What would you? I have but one son."
"And you missed him?"
"A little," acknowledged Sir Maurice.
Philip rose to his feet.
"Ah, but I am glad! And you are sorry you sent him away?"
"Not now. But when I received this—very." Sir Maurice held out the sheet of paper.