he sat and chatted, and sipped his great-grandfather's port, they
would have been justifiably astonished.

At length the banquet, for it was nothing less, came to an end, and,
having bowed their farewell to the last departing guest, the old man
and his son were left alone together in the deserted drawing-room.
Philip was seated by a table, his face buried in his hand, whilst his
father was standing by the dying fire, tapping his eye-glass nervously
on the mantelpiece. It was he who broke the somewhat ominous silence.

"Well, Philip, how did you like my speech?"

Thus addressed, the son lifted his face from his hand; it was white as
a sheet.

"By what authority," he asked in a harsh whisper, "did you announce me
as engaged to Miss Lee?"

"By my own, Philip. I had it from both your lips that you were
engaged. I did not choose that it should remain a secret any longer."

"You had no right to make that speech. I will not marry Miss Lee;
understand once and for all, I will _not_ marry her."

In speaking thus, Philip had nerved himself to bear one of those
dreadful outbursts of fury that had earned his father his title; but,
to his astonishment, none such came. The steely eyes glinted a little
as he answered in his most polite manner, and that was all.

"Your position, Philip, then is that you are engaged, very publicly