r kindness."

"Which you never will," Mordaunt said. "Come, light up, man! Here's a
match!"

He held it up, and de Montville had perforce to place the cigarette
between his lips. His throat was working spasmodically, but with a
valiant effort he managed to inhale a mouthful of smoke. He choked over
it badly the next moment, however, and Mordaunt patted his back with much
goodwill till he was better.

"There, my dear fellow, lie down now and take it easy. I'm dining out;
but Holmes has special orders to look after you; and if you are wanting
anything, in the name of common-sense ask for it."

With that he turned from the sofa, took up the photograph that lay
upon his writing-table, hesitated an instant, then thrust it into his
breast-pocket, and strolled out of the room.

CHAPTER IX

A CONFESSION

"So you don't like my photograph!" said Chris.

"Why do you say that?"

"I could see you didn't. What's the matter with it? Isn't it pretty
enough? It's just like me."

"Yes, it's just like you," Mordaunt admitted.

"Then you don't like me?" suggested Chris.

He smiled at that. "Yes, I like you very much. But--"

"Well?" said Chris, her deep-sea eyes full of eager curiosity. "Go on,
please!"

"Well," he said, "that photograph is not one that I could show to my
friends."

"But why not--if it's just like me?"

He took her chin and turned her face gently to the light. "Try again," he
said, "without Cinders."

"Without Cinders!" She stared at him mystified, then began to laugh.
"Trevor, I believe you are jealous of Cinders!"

"Perhaps," he said. "Anyhow, I should prefer your portrait without him.
You look like a baby of six cuddling a toy."

"I wonder what makes you so anxious to marry me," said Chris
unexpectedly.

Mordaunt still smiled at her. "Strange, isn't it?" he said.

"Yes, I can't understand it in the least." She shook her head with a
puzzled expression. "It's a pity you don't like that photograph. I'm sure
Cinders has come out beautifully. And he isn't a bit like a toy."

"Yes, but I don't want Cinders."

Chris looked at him with sudden misgiving. "But, Trevor, when--when we
are married--"

"Oh, of course," he said at once. "I didn't mean that. I haven't the
smallest wish to part you from him. It's only his photograph I have no
use for."

Her face cleared magically. "Dear Trevor, I quite understand. And I would
go and be done again to-morrow if I had the money, but I haven't."