de an ingratiating attempt at the last moment to persuade
Mordaunt to let him drive. But Mordaunt was as adamant upon that point.
He had issued a decree that Noel should drive no more during the summer
holidays, and he meant to keep to it.

The prohibition did not extend to Chris, but she had shuddered at the
bare mention of the motor ever since the accident, and he knew that she
had not the faintest desire left to enlarge her experience in driving.

She was the last to leave the house on that sultry August afternoon, and
Mordaunt saw at once that the ordeal of entering the car was a severe
one. She even turned so white at the sight of it that he feared a
breakdown.

"Come and sit with me," he said kindly.

She looked at him with a quick shake of the head. "No, I'll sit behind
with Bertie if I may. Noel can sit with you."

Noel, who was already in the back seat, climbed over like a monkey, and
Bertrand handed her in.

She sat very rigid until they were out of the avenue, and Bertrand was
silent also. But as they turned into the road he began to talk, gently
and persuasively, upon indifferent things, resolutely passing by her
silence until with a wan little smile she managed to respond.

Long before they reached Sandacre she had quite recovered her
self-command, and the flash of the sea upon the horizon brought from her
a quick exclamation of pleasure.

"Ah, yes, it is beautiful, that!" he agreed with enthusiasm. "And there
is the sand there, yes?"

She nodded. "I used to think we'd go and picnic there. But I don't think
I want to now."

"Next year," suggested Mordaunt, without turning his head.

"Perhaps," she said, a little dubiously.

Bertrand said nothing. He was looking out to the wide horizon with a far
look in his eyes, almost as though he saw beyond that sparkling sky-line,
even beyond the sea itself.

The strains of the military band from Sandacre reached them as they
turned in at the wide-flung gates. Chris's eyes kindled almost in spite
of her. She loved all things military.

As for Bertrand, he sat bolt upright, with his head back, like a horse
scenting battle. Glancing at him, Chris wondered at his attitude, till
suddenly she recognized the strains of the Marseillaise.

She squeezed his hand in sympathy as he helped her to alight, and he
looked at her with his quick smile of understanding. He was ever swift to
catch her meaning.

They crossed a lawn that was crowded with people to a great