Cleone raised her eyes to survey Philip.
"Mamma, there is naught to tell. Philip is such a staid, sober person."
"Tut-tut!" said her mother. "Now, Philip, tell us all! Did you not meet one beauty to whom you lost your heart?"
"No, madam," answered Philip. "The painted society dames attract me not at all." His eyes rested on Cleone as he spoke.
"I dare say you've not yet heard the news?" Cleone said, after a slight pause. "Or did Sir Maurice tell you?"
"No—that is, I do not know. What is it? Good news?"
"It remains to be seen," she replied. "'Tis that Mr. Bancroft is to return! What think you of that?"
Philip stiffened.
"Bancroft? Sir Harold's son?"
"Yes, Henry Bancroft. Is it not exciting? Only think—he has been away nigh on eight years! Why, he must be—" she began to count on her rosy-tipped fingers "—twenty-six, or twenty-seven. Oh, a man! I do so wonder what he is like now!"