But he kissed the girl as he said this, and pressed his mother's hand.
"The trouble with you two," he declared, "is that you don't get about enough. Seclusion makes you serious."
"I wish," said Mrs. Chamberlin, "that you had brought me back the news that you had grown more like us."
"More serious? Still harping on your son, dear! No, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I've about given up all hope of marrying money, and marrying anything else is an impossibility. I must be getting on in years. You know how it is: as we grow older we become more particular and less desirable—when we're old enough to have learned properly to play the game of love, we're too old to play it."
"You're a mere boy," observed Madelaine, with a toss of her blonde curls.
"And you talk like one," said Mrs. Chamberlin, smiling in spite of herself.
"I'd never think of accepting anybody so young as you are," the girl added.
Philip pulled her pink ear.
"That's right, Queen Mab," he agreed; "wait till a man is large and round and settled. And when you do marry, marry for keeps: a little marriage is a dangerous thing, eh, Mutter?"
"Philip!"