"Oh, 'tis not my qualities they object to! 'Tis my lack of vice."
"Don't interrupt my peroration, lad. They think you a noble—what was the word you used?—clodhopper. 'Tis marvellously apt. They doubt your ability to shine in society. 'Tis for us to prove them to be mistaken. You must surprise them."
"I doubt I shall," said Philip, with the glimmering of a smile.
Tom was wrapped in thought; his eyes ran over his nephew's form appraisingly.
"Ye've a fine figure, and good legs. Your hands?"
Philip extended them, laughing.
"Um! a little attention, and I'd not wish to see better. Like all the Jettans, you are passable of countenance, not to say handsome."
"Am I?" Philip was startled. "I never knew that before!"
"Then ye know it now. You're the spit of your father in his young days. Gad, what days they were! Before I grew fat," he added sadly. "But I wander, I wander. Maurice and the petticoat—what's the girl's name?"
"I don't see why you should assu—"