a little while. If you have any doubts upon the subject, ask
him."

She shook her head. "No, it wouldn't do. I--I'd really rather not go away
if it means--that. Besides, there is Noel. And next week there will be
Aunt Philippa. I think we had better give up the idea, Trevor; I do
really, anyhow for the present." She leaned nearer to him; her eyes
looked pleadingly into his. "Say you don't mind," she begged him, a
little tremulously.

"I am only thinking of you, dear," he answered.

She smiled with lips that quivered. "Well, don't think of me--at least,
not too much. I only want you just to be kind to me, that's all. I--I
shall be myself presently. You're very good to be so patient."

Her lips were lifted to his. He bent and kissed her. But as he went
gravely away she had a feeling that she had disappointed him, and her
heart grew a little heavier in consequence.

The sound of the piano in the drawing-room brought her down earlier than
usual for dinner, and she found Bertrand playing softly to himself in the
twilight. He had a delicate touch, and she always loved to hear him.

She had with difficulty trained him not to spring up at her entrance, but
to-day he turned sharply round.

"Christine, what did that _scelerat_ say to you?"

The abruptness of his speech did not disconcert her. She was never ill at
ease with Bertrand, however sudden his mood. She came to the piano, and
stood facing him in the dusk.

"He recognized me," she said.

"Ah!" Bertrand's exclamation was deep in his throat, like the growl of an
angry dog. "And he said--?"

Chris hesitated.

Instantly his manner changed. He stretched out a quick hand. "Pardon my
impatience! You will tell me what he said?"

Yet still she hesitated. His impetuosity had warned her to go warily if
she would not have him embroiling himself in another quarrel for her
sake.

"It doesn't matter much, does it?" she said, rather wearily. "I wasn't
with him very long--no longer than I could help. He was objectionable, of
course, but that sort of man couldn't be anything else, could he?"

"Tell me what he said," insisted Bertrand inexorably.

But still she hedged, trying to temper his wrath. "He didn't tell me
anything new. I have known--for some time now--why you fought that duel."

"Ah! You know that? But how?"

She smiled wanly. "You forget I'm growing up, Bertie."

He winced at that suddenly and sharply, but he made no verbal protest.
Only in the silence tha