The grey eyes met his, a trifle hurt.
"I am selfish, Father? Because I will not become the thing I despise?"
"And narrow, Philip, to despise what you do not know."
"Thank you!" The young voice was exceedingly bitter. "I am to be a painted popinjay! I tell you, sir, Cleone must take me as I am."
"Or leave you as you are," said Sir Maurice gently.
"A warning, sir?"
"That's for you to judge, child. And now I'll to bed." He paused, looking at his son.
Philip went to him.
"Good night, sir."
Sir Maurice smiled, holding out his hand.