"All gone! Look up, Cleone!"
She lifted her face. He gazed down at her, rapt.
"Oh, Cleone—I shall write a sonnet to your wonderful eyes!" he breathed.
[Twenty]
Mademoiselle de Chaucheron Rings Down the Curtain
Sir Maurice Jettan stood in the withdrawing-room of the Hotel Cleone and studied himself in the glass. He smiled a little and straightened his shoulders.
There came a swish of skirts in the passage without, and the door opened. In walked Cleone, a fair vision in a gown of pure white satin and lace.
Sir Maurice turned. He raised his quizzing-glass the better to inspect his daughter-in-law.
"Upon my soul, Cleone!" he ejaculated.
Cleone swept him a curtsey, laughing.