thinking of you. Oh,
Bertie, that horrid gun! I always hated it!"

Again her voice quivered on the verge of tears, and again with a quick
gesture he stayed her.

"We will speak of it no more," he said. "See! We turn another page in the
book of life, and we commence again. Let us remember only, Christine,
that we are good comrades, you and I. But it is a good thing, this
_camaraderie_. It gives us pleasure, yes?"

She gave him her hands impulsively. "Bertie!" she cried. "We shall always
be pals--always--all our lives; but don't--dear, don't smile at me like
that! I can't bear it!"

He held her hands very tightly; he had wholly ceased to smile. But still
gallantly he shielded her from the danger she had not begun to see. He
did it instinctively, because of the love he bore her, and because of the
innocence in her eyes.

"But what is it?" he said. "It is necessary that we smile sometimes,
_cherie,_ since to weep is futile, and laughter is always more precious
than tears. Ah! that is better. You smile yourself. It is always thus
that I remember my little friend of Valpre. She was ever too brave for
tears."

He pressed her hands encouragingly, and again he let them go. But the
strain was telling upon him. There was one subject which he could not
trust himself to broach.

And for some reason Chris could not broach it either. She took refuge in
every-day affairs; she told him of the giddy doings that kept her
occupied from morning till night, of Cinders (the mention of whose name
kindled a reminiscent gleam in the Frenchman's eyes), of the coming
birthday dance, which he must promise to attend.

He shook his head over that; such gaieties were not for him. But Chris
pressed the point with much persistence. Of course he must come. It would
be no fun without him. Did he remember that birthday picnic at Valpre,
and--and the night they had passed in the Magic Cave? She spoke of it
with heightened colour and a hint of defiance which was plainly not
directed against him.

"And I was afraid of the dragon," she said. "And you held my hand. I
remember it so well. And afterwards I went to sleep, and slept all night
long with my head on your shoulder."

"You were but a child," he said softly.

"But it seems like yesterday," she answered.

And then it was that the door opened very quietly, and Trevor Mordaunt
came in upon them, sitting together in the gloom.

CHAPTER XI

THE EXPLANATION

There was nothing hurri