? One
does not roll oneself in the mud. And that is a virtue, that?"

Chris became keenly interested. "Do go on, Bertie! I had no idea you
thought such a lot. I don't myself--often."

He laughed, his sudden pleasant laugh that he uttered now so rarely. "But
I am no philosopher," he said. "Simply I think--a little--sometimes. And
to me--to be honourable is no more a virtue than to wash the hands. One
cannot do otherwise and respect oneself."

"No?" said Chris, a little dubiously. "Then, Bertie, if honour is not
goodness, what is?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Goodness? Bah! There is no goodness without
love."

"Oh!" Chris's eyes opened wide. "You think--that?"

He nodded with vehemence. "_Si, cherie_! I think--that; more, I know it.
I know that 'Love is the fulfilling of the law.' One does not need to go
further than that. It is enough, no?" His eyes looked straight into hers;
they were shining with the light that only friendship can kindle.

She smiled back at him. "I should almost think it is, Bertie. It is
enough for you anyhow, since you believe it."

"Ah, yes," he said very earnestly. "I believe it, Christine. I should not
be here now--if I did not believe it."

She puckered her brows a little. "I don't quite know what you mean," she
said.

He turned from her questioning eyes, pulling his hat down over his own.
"No," he said. "But--you know enough, _ma petite_, you know enough."

"I sometimes think I don't know anything," she said restlessly.

He stretched out a hand to her, as one who guides a child. "Ah,
Christine," he said sadly, "but it is better to know the little than the
much."

"You all say that," said Chris. "I think it is rather a horrid world for
some things, don't you?"

"But the world is that which we make it," said Bertrand.

CHAPTER II

ONE OF THE FAMILY

"But, my dear chap, what bally rot! Anyone would think I'd never smoked a
pipe or handled a gun before, when I've done both for years."

Noel Wyndham's smile was the most engaging part of him; it had the knack
of disarming the most wrathful. It had served him many a time in the hour
of retribution, and he never scrupled to make use of it. It was quite his
most valuable asset.

"Don't be waxy, old chap," he pleaded, slipping an affectionate hand
inside his brother-in-law's unresponsive arm. "I've been having such a
high old time. And I'm not a bloomin' kid. I know what I'm about."

"All very well," Mordaunt said. "I d