or child!" he said. "It's a shame to make you remember. But I'm afraid
it is inevitable. Won't you lie on the sofa? You will find it more
comfortable."

"No," said Chris. "I like the floor the best. You can sit on the sofa, if
Cinders doesn't mind. Has everyone gone, downstairs? Hasn't it been a
dreadful day?" She leaned her head against his knee with a sigh of
weariness. "I do think getting married is a dreadful business," she said.

His hand was on her hair, the beautiful, burnished hair that Mademoiselle
Gautier had deemed one of her most dangerous possessions. He did not try
to see her face, and perhaps for that very reason Chris leaned against
him with complete confidence.

"So you don't want to be married?" he said, after a moment.

"No, I don't!" she said, with vehemence. "I think marriage is
dreadful--dreadful, when you come to look at it close." She moved her
head under his hand; for an instant her face was raised. "Trevor, you
don't mind my saying it, do you?"

"I want you to say exactly what is in your mind," he made grave reply.

"I knew you would." She nestled down again, and pulled his hand
over her shoulder, holding it against her cheek. "I know I'm very
unorthodox," she said. "Perhaps I'm wicked as well. I can't help it.
I think marriage--except for good people like Hilda--is a mistake.
It's so terribly cold-blooded and--and irrevocable."

She spoke the last words almost in a whisper. She was holding his hand
very tightly.

He sat very still, and she wondered if he were shocked by her views, but
she could not bring herself to ascertain. She went on quickly, with a
touch of recklessness--

"It's only the good people like Hilda who can be quite sure they will
never change their minds. In fact, I'm beginning to think that it's only
the good people who never do. Trevor, what should you do if--if you were
married to me, and then you--changed your mind?"

"I can't imagine the impossible, Chris," he said.

She moved restlessly. "Would it be quite impossible?"

"Quite."

"Even if you found out that I was--quite worthless?"

"That also is impossible," he said gravely.

She was silent for a space, then, "And what if I--changed mine?" she
said, her voice very low.

"Have you changed your mind?" he asked.

She shrank at the question, quietly though it was uttered.

His hand closed very steadily upon hers. "Don't be afraid to tell me," he
said. "I want the truth, you know, whatever it is."

"I