e.

"St. Swithin's Day!" he echoed. "Well, what of it?"

She broke into her gay laugh. "Oh, please not St. Swithin's Day! Just
imagine if it rained!"

"Chris!" he said. "You're incorrigible!"

His arms had slackened, and she drew away from him, breathing rather
quickly.

"No, but really, wouldn't it be tragic? I shouldn't like a wet honeymoon,
should you? Hadn't we better wait till August? Or shall you be wanting to
go to Scotland?"

"No," he said. "I am not going to Scotland this year."

His eyes were still upon her, gravely watchful, but they expressed
nothing of impatience or exasperation. Very quietly he waited.

"Shall we say August, then?" said Chris, in a small, shy voice, not
looking at him.

"Will your aunt remain in town for August?" he asked.

"But we are not obliged to be married in town," she pointed out.

"Nor are we obliged to have a honeymoon, Chris," he said. "Shall we say
St. Swithin's Day, and forego the honeymoon--if it rains?"

"Go straight home, you mean?" She turned back to him eagerly. "Oh,
Trevor, I should like that! I do want to superintend everything there.
Yes, let's do that, shall we? I always did think honeymoons were rather
silly, didn't you?"

He smiled in spite of himself. "I daresay they are--from some points of
view. It is settled, then--St. Swithin's Day?"

She nodded. "Yes. And we will go straight to Kellerton afterwards, and
work--like niggers. It won't matter a bit then whether it rains or not.
And Noel can spend his holidays with us and help. How busy we shall be!"

She laughed up at him, all shining eyes and dimples.

Again--in spite of himself--he laughed back, pinching her cheek. "Will
that please you, my little Chris?"

"Oh, ever so!" said Chris.

He stooped and lightly kissed her hair. "Then--so let it be!"

CHAPTER X

A SURPRISE VISIT

It was raining--one of those sudden, pelting showers that descend from
June thunder-clouds, brief but drenching. It was also very dark, and
Bertrand had switched on the light. He was seated at Mordaunt's
writing-table, his black head bent over a pile of letters. The pen he
held moved busily, but not very quickly. He was writing with extreme
care. It was evident that he meant his first day's work to be a success.
He scarcely noticed the heavy downpour, being profoundly intent upon the
work he had in hand. Only at a sharp clap of thunder did he glance up
momentarily and shrug his shoulders. But he was at once i