"Little Mistress Cleone will have none of you an you fail to mend your ways, my son. Do you not know it? What has that dainty piece to do with a raw clodhopper like yourself?"
Philip answered low.
"If Mistress Cleone gives me her love it will be for me as I am. She is worthy a man, not a powdered, ruffled beau."
"A man! Sacré tonnerre, 'tis what you are, hein? Philip, child, get you to Town to your uncle and buy a wig."
"No, sir, I thank you. I shall do very well without a wig."
Sir Maurice drove his cane downwards at the floor in exasperation.
"Mille diables! You'll to Town as I say, defiant boy! You may finish the business with that scoundrel Jenkins while you are about it!"
Philip nodded.
"That I will do, sir, since you wish it."
"Bah!" retorted his father.