"Drink's the thing," agreed Tom placidly. He pushed a tankard of ale towards his nephew. "What ails you, lad?"
"Cleone's betrothed to Brenderby," announced Philip wretchedly.
"No!" Tom was dumbfounded.
"And to Winton." Philip sought to drown his troubles in the tankard.
"What!" Sir Maurice dropped his knife. "Betrothed to Brenderby and Winton? You're raving!"
"Would to God I were!" Philip emerged from the tankard, and wiped his lips with his fathers napkin. "I asked her to marry me at the ball last night. She refused; I won't tell you her exact words. Half an hour later I found her kissing ce scélérat Brenderby in a secluded corner!" He laughed savagely.
"You mean that Brenderby kissed her?" suggested Tom.
"No, I do not! Voyons, would he be alive now had he dared embrace Cleone against her will? She submitted—she wished it!"
"I'll not believe that!" exclaimed Sir Maurice.
"You must believe it. She is betrothed to him. She said it herself. James was with me. He interposed, saying that she was already promised to him."