Back in the withdrawing-room again it was worse. Sir Maurice asked Cleone to sing, and she went to the spinet. Bancroft followed, to choose her music, to turn the pages, to gaze at her in frank admiration. Damn him, damn him, damn him!
The party came to an end at last; Philip was alone with his father. Sir Maurice leaned his chin in his hand, watching him amusedly. For a long while Philip said nothing, but presently he brought his eyes away from the window and looked at his father.
"And that," he said bitingly, "is what you would have me. A conceited, painted puppy, fawning and leering on every woman that crosses his path!"
"Not at all." Sir Maurice took out his snuff-box and opened it. "'Tis the last thing in the world I would have you."
"You said—"
"I said I would have you a very perfect gentleman, knowing the world and its ways."
"Well?—"
"You perhaps conceive Mr. Bancroft a perfect gentleman?"
"Not I! 'Tis you who—"