you going to
do with him?"

"I haven't decided at present. He has had a pretty bad spell of
starvation. I don't know yet what he is fit for."

"It must be dreadful to starve," said Chris soberly. "It's bad enough not
to have any pocket-money. But to starve--Is he ill, then?"

"He has been. He is getting better."

"And you are taking care of him?"

"Yes, I'm housing him for the present."

"Trevor, it was good of you not to send him to the workhouse."

Mordaunt frowned. "It was not a case for the workhouse. He would probably
have died before he came to that."

"Oh, how dreadful!" A shadow crossed her vivid face. "But--he won't die
now, you think?"

"Not now, no!"

"And you won't let him go organ-grinding any more?"

"No."

"That's all right; though I don't think it would be at all bad on fine
days in the country, if one had a nice little donkey to pull the organ."

"Nice little donkeys have to be fed," Mordaunt reminded her.

"Oh yes. But they eat grass and thistles and things. And they never die.
Isn't that extraordinary? One would think the world would get overrun
with them, wouldn't one?"

"So it is, more or less," observed Mordaunt.

"Trevor! What a disgusting insinuation!" The merry laugh pealed out.
"I've a good mind to turn round and go straight back."

"If you think you could," he said.

"Of course I could!" Chris leaned forward and laid a daring hand on the
wheel.

"Yes," he said. "But that won't do it, you know."

"But if I were in earnest?" she said, a quick note of pleading in her
voice. "If I really wanted you to turn round?"

He kept his eyes fixed ahead. "Are you ever really in earnest, Chris?" he
said.

"Of course I am!"

Mordaunt was silent. They were crossing a crowded thoroughfare, and his
driving seemed to occupy his full attention.

Chris waited till he had extricated the car from the stream of traffic,
then impulsively she spoke--

"Trevor, I didn't think you were like Aunt Philippa. I thought you
understood."

She saw his grave face soften. "Believe me, I am not in the least like
your Aunt Philippa," he said.

"No; but--"

"But, Chris?"

"I think you needn't have asked me that," she said, a little quiver in
her voice. "Even Cinders knows me better than that."

"Cinders ought to know you better than anyone," remarked Mordaunt. "His
opportunities are unlimited."

She laughed somewhat dubiously. "I knew you would think me horrid as soon
as you began to see mo