a smile at her ardent face.
"There isn't a bed for you to sleep on."

"I could sleep on the sofa with Cinders," she said. "We can sleep
anywhere."

"They've slept on a heap of stones before now," remarked Max.

"I'm sure we haven't!" She whisked round upon him with a suddenness that
was almost a challenge. "We haven't, Max!" she repeated.

He stuck a cigarette into his mouth. "All right, my dear girl. My
mistake, no doubt. I thought you had."

"Don't be absurd!" ordered Chris, colouring vividly "We never did
anything so--so disreputable." She twined her arm impulsively in
Mordaunt's. "Don't believe him, Trevor!"

"I don't," he said, with his quiet eyes upon her upturned face.

Max laughed aloud. "Why don't you tell him the joke, Chris?"

"Because there isn't any joke, and you're very horrid," she returned with
spirit. "Trevor, let's go!"

"I am ready," he said.

"Very well, then." Chris turned round with relief in her face and hastily
tied her veil. "Please find Cinders, Max," she said. "And bring Trevor's
coat. It's in the billiard-room. I suppose we really must go back this
time, but you will bring me again, won't you, Trevor?"

"As often as you care to come," he said.

"Ah, yes! Only I'm so full of engagements just now. It's such a nuisance.
One can never get away."

"What! Tired of London?" he said.

"Oh no, not really. But I want to be here, too. I love this place. You
won't do anything in it without me, will you?"

"Not without your approval, certainly," he promised.

She turned back to him with her quick smile. "Trevor, thank you! I--I've
decided to marry you as soon as ever I can--as soon as Hilda comes back
from her honeymoon."

He was smoking a cigarette. He took it from between his lips and dropped
it into an ash-tray. For a moment his face was turned from her. He seemed
to be watching the smouldering ash. Then, "Really, Chris?" he said,
looking down at her again.

She was tugging at her gloves. She thrust her hand out to him. "Button
it, please!" she said, rather breathlessly, as if the exertion had
exhausted her somewhat.

He took it, bent over it, suddenly pressed his lips to the soft wrist.

"Oh, don't!" said Chris, and snatched it from him.

When Max came back she was standing by the window, still fumbling at her
glove, with her back turned, while her _fiance_ leaned against the
mantelpiece, finishing his cigarette.

CHAPTER VIII

THE COMPACT

Wearily Bertrand de