“You don’t,” contradicted the old man with his usual acerbity. “You grow fatter if you’ve any sense—to keep the cold out.” He glared at her, then demanded abruptly: “How do you think Tony’s looking?”
Lady Susan’s dark eyes rested thoughtfully a moment on Tony’s face before she answered.
“Not too well,” she admitted. “He looks a little strained and keyed up. Have you been bullying him, Philip?”
“Not more than usual”—grimly. “I’ve told him I’ll pay no more debts for him. And a good thing, too! I fancy he’s been keeping within his allowance since I put my foot down. Anyhow, he hasn’t come to me again, begging for money.” He paused and shot a swift glance of inquiry at her, obviously seeking her approval, but Lady Susan preserved a strictly non-committal silence. She thought Tony exhibited decided symptoms of nervous strain. His eyes were restless, and his mouth wore a dissatisfied, thwarted expression.
“It’s love,” pursued Sir Philip, as she made no response. “That’s what’s the matter with the boy. He doesn’t know; whether he’s on his head or his heels.”
“Love?”
“Yes. He’s in love with that slip of a Doreen Neville. And because I brought him back to Audley Square instead of careering all over Europe after her and her mother he’s as sulky as a young bear.”
“Doreen Neville?” Lady Susan felt that her replies were hopelessly inadequate, but she was too genuinely taken aback by the news to think of anything to say.
“I said so, didn’t I?”—crustily. “I suppose I shall have to let him marry her in the end. She’s all right, of course, as regards family. But a bit of a swear-stick—melt in a storm, probably. Confound the boy!”—irritably. “Why couldn’t he have remained in love with Ann?”
“I’m very glad he didn’t,” returned Lady Susan quietly. “It was only calf-love. Besides, he would have leant on Ann—she’s such a stalwart little soldier, you know”—with a smile.