alone," she said.

His eyes did not answer hers. They looked remote and cold. "Come and sit
down," he said.

He seated himself on the couch from which she had just risen. Chris
caught up a slide from the dressing-table, and fastened back her hair
with fingers that trembled inexplicably.

Then she went to him. "Trevor," she said, and there was pleading in her
voice, "do you know, I don't want to talk about anything. I think one
gets over some troubles best that way. Do you mind?"

He took her wrists very quietly, and drew her down beside him. "What were
you trying to tell me this afternoon?" he said.

She shivered and turned her face away. "Nothing, really nothing. I was
foolish and upset. Please let me forget it."

She would have withdrawn from his hold, but his hands tightened upon her.
"Won't you reconsider the matter?" he asked. "It would be better for us
both if you told me of your own accord."

"Trevor!" She turned to him swiftly, flashing into his face a look of
such wild alarm that he was touched, in spite of himself.

"My dear," he said, "I have no wish to frighten you. But you must see for
yourself that it is utterly impossible for us to go on like this. You are
keeping something from me. I want you to tell me quite quietly and
without prevarication what it is."

She turned white to the lips. "There is nothing, Trevor. Indeed, there is
nothing," she said.

His face changed, grew stern, grew implacable. He bent towards her, still
holding her firmly by the wrists. He looked closely into her eyes, and in
his own was neither accusation nor condemnation, only a deep and awful
questioning that seemed to probe her through and through.

"For Heaven's sake," he said, "don't lie to me!"

And Chris shrank, shrank from that dread scrutiny as she would have
shrunk from naked steel. She did not attempt to speak another word.

For seconds that seemed to her agonized senses like hours, he held her
so, waiting, waiting for she knew not what. Her heart thumped within her
like the heart of a terrified creature fleeing for its life. She began to
pant audibly through the silence. The strain was more than she could
bear.

"Chris!" he said.

She started violently; every pulse leaped, every nerve jarred. But she
did not lift her eyes to his; she could not.

"Don't tremble," he said, his voice very cold and even. "Just tell me the
truth. Begin with what happened at Valpre."

Her white lips quivered. "What--how much