and went up to her room.

Her husband, following a little later, found her sitting on a couch by
the window, perusing them. She glanced up at his entrance.

"I have a letter from Aunt Philippa. She thinks we must be quite settled
by this time, and she wants to spend a day or two here next week, before
she goes to Scotland."

"I suppose we can put up with her for a day or two," said Mordaunt.

Her smile was slightly strained as she returned to the letter. "I suppose
we shall have to."

He came and stood beside her, looking down at her bent head. The
burnished hair shone warmly golden in the evening sunlight. He laid a
quiet hand upon it. She started at his touch, and then sat very still.

"I have heard from Hilda too," she said, after a moment. "They are
staying at Graysdale. Percy fishes all day and she sketches, when they
are not motoring. It was very sweet of her to write by return."

A tear fell suddenly upon the open page. She covered it hastily with her
hand. Her husband's pressed her head very tenderly.

"Chris," he said gently, "I wonder if you would like to go away for a
little?"

She glanced up quickly, eagerly, with wet lashes. "Oh, Trevor!" she
breathed.

He sat down beside her on the couch. "We will go to-morrow if you like,"
he said.

She slipped her hand into his. "I should love it!"

"Would you?" he said. "I have been thinking of it for some days, but I
wasn't sure you would care for the idea."

"But your work?" she said. "Those articles you wanted to finish? And that
political book of yours? And the alterations in the north wing, will they
be able to get on with those with you away?"

"The literary work must stand over for a week or two," he said. "I shall
leave Bertrand in charge of the rest."

"Bertrand!" She opened her blue eyes wide. "But--but he would be away,
wouldn't he?" Then quickly: "He would go with us, of course? You didn't
mean to leave him behind?"

He raised his brows ever so slightly. "I meant just us two, dear," he
said. "Wouldn't you care for that?"

"Oh!" said Chris blankly. "But, Trevor, we couldn't possibly leave him.
He isn't well. I--I shouldn't be happy about him. Besides--besides--" Her
words faltered under his straight look; she made a little appealing
gesture towards him. "Please understand," she said.

He took both her hands into his. "My dear, I do understand," he said,
with the utmost kindness. "But I think he can be trusted to take care of
himself for