m down again.

"No, no, man! Sit still! I have only come out for a moment."

"But I am going," Bertrand protested. "I cannot sit and do nothing. There
are those accounts that you have given me to do. They are not yet
finished. Also--"

"Also, they are not going to be done to-day," Mordaunt said, shaking him
gently by the shoulder. "Chris, I am going to hand this fellow over to
you for the next few days. You can do what you like with him so long as
you don't let him do any work. That I absolutely forbid. You understand
me, Bertrand?"

"But I cannot--I cannot," Bertrand said restlessly. "You are already much
too good to me. You overwhelm me with kindness, and I--I make no return
at all. No, listen to me--"

"I'm not going to listen to you," Mordaunt said. "You are talking
nonsense, my friend, arrant drivel--nothing less. Chris will tell you the
same."

"Of course," said Chris. "Besides, there are crowds of things you can do
for me. No, he shan't be overworked, I promise you, Trevor. But I'm going
to try a new cure. Just for this afternoon he is going to lie in the
hammock and smoke cigarettes. But after to-day"--she nodded gaily at the
perturbed Frenchman--"after to-day, Bertie, _nous verrons_!"

He smiled in spite of himself, but he continued to look dissatisfied till
Mordaunt carelessly turned the conversation.

"Where's that young beggar Noel?"

"Fishing in the Home Meadow," said Chris.

"Quite sure?"

"I think so," she said. "Why?"

"Because he has taken one of my guns, and I believe he is potting
rabbits."

Chris sat up with consternation in her eyes. "Trevor! I believe he is
too! I heard someone shooting half an hour ago. And he has got Cinders
with him! I know he will go and shoot him by mistake!"

"Or himself," said Mordaunt grimly.

"Oh, he won't do that," said Chris with confidence. "Nothing ever happens
to Noel."

"Something will happen to him before long if he doesn't behave himself,"
observed Mordaunt. "My patience began to wear thin last night when I
caught him asleep with a smouldering pipe on his pillow."

"Oh, but he always does what he likes in the holidays," pleaded Chris.

"Does he?" Mordaunt's voice was uncompromising.

She slipped a quick hand into his. "Trevor, you wouldn't spoil his fun?"

He looked down at her, faintly smiling. "My dear Chris, it depends upon
the fun. I'm not going to have the place burnt down for his amusement."

"Oh no," she said. "But you won't be str