"So if you shake Philip up from his toes to his head—you'll earn a father's blessing."
Cleone controlled a trembling lip.
"Sir—you are—a very naughty—conspirator."
"We'll leave it at that," said Sir Maurice. "Now choose me a rose, little witch. Gad, if I were ten years younger I'd make Philip jealous myself!"
Cleone tip-toed, her hands on his shoulders.
"You are very, very wicked," she told him gravely.
Sir Maurice kissed her.
"So are you, minx, and I want you for my daughter. We are so well suited."
Cleone blushed fiery red and hid her face in his coat.