The Transformation of Philip Jettan

by Georgette Heyer

"Philip in his milieu. Paris." Sir Maurice smiled down at her. "When I think of what Philip was not quite a year ago...."

"It seems impossible, doesn't it? But oh, I am glad now that I sent him away. He is quite, quite perfect!"

"H'm!" said Sir Maurice.

Cleone laughed at him.

"You pretend! I know how proud you are!"

"Minx! I confess I am curious to see Philip in his Parisian Society. No one knows that he is here?"

"Not a soul. He insisted on guarding the secret until he could make a really dramatic appearance at the Duchesse de Sauverin's ball to-night. He is mad, you know, quite mad! Oh, here he is!"

Philip came into the room with a rustle of stiff silks. Sir Maurice started at him.

"Good God, Philip, what audacity!"

From head to foot his son was clad in white. The only splash of colour was the red heels of his shoes; his only jewels were pearls and diamonds; on the lapel of his coat he wore a single white rose.