"At once, dear lady! I go to procure it!"
"Oh, thank you, sir!" This was not what Cleone wanted at all. "Well, Mr. Jettan, you have not yet fled to Paris?"
Philip sat down beside her.
"No, mademoiselle, not yet. To-night will decide whether I go or stay." His voice was rather stern.
"Indeed? How vastly exciting!"
"Is it not! I am going to ask you a plain question, Cleone. Will you marry me?"
Cleone gasped in amazement. Unreasoning fury shook her. That Philip should dare to come to her straight from the smiles of Ann Nutley! She glanced at him. He was quite solemn. Could it be that he mocked her? She forced herself to speak lightly.
"I can hardly suppose that you are serious, sir!"
"I am in earnest, Cleone, never more so. We have played at cross-purposes long enough."
His voice sent a thrill through her. Almost he was the Philip of Little Fittledean. Cleone forced herself to remember that he was not.