"H'm!" remarked Philip. His voice held no enthusiasm. "What does he want here?"
Cleone's long lashes fluttered down to hide the laugh in her eyes.
"To see his papa, of course. After so many years!"
Philip gave vent to a sound very like a snort.
"I'll wager there's a more potent reason! Else had he come home ere now."
"Well, I will tell you. Papa rode over to Great Fittledean two days ago, and he found Sir Harold mightily amused, did he not, Mamma?"
Madam Charteris assented vaguely. She was stitching at a length of satin, content to drop out of the conversation.
"Yes. It seems that Henry—"
"Who?" Philip straightened in his chair.
"Mr. Bancroft," said Cleone. A smile trembled on her lips. "It seems that Mr. Bancroft has had occasion to fight a duel. Is it not too dreadful?"