hing like a sob, and rose from the sofa.

Noel looked at her under drawn brows. "You really mean it?"

"Yes." She pushed the hair from her forehead, and made a great effort to
still her agitation. "I do mean it, Noel. I--wish it."

"All right." The boy whizzed round and turned the key.

He met Mordaunt face to face on the threshold with clenched hands, his
face dark with passion. "If you hurt her--I'll kill you!" he said.

Had Mordaunt laughed at him, he would probably have attempted to carry
out his threat then and there, for his mood was tempestuous. But the
quiet eyes that met his blazing ones held no derision. They went beyond
him instantly, seeking the girlish figure that leaned against the
sofa-head for support; but a hand grasped his shoulder at the same moment
and turned him back into the room.

"I shan't quarrel with you on that account," Mordaunt said. "You can stay
if you like, and satisfy yourself."

Jack entered behind him, and went straight to Chris. He took her
quivering hands into his, and held them fast.

"That boy deserves to be horsewhipped for startling you like this," he
said.

She smiled at him wanly, but not as if she heard his words. "You will
stay with me, Jack?" she said beseechingly.

"If you wish it, dear. But Trevor wants to say something rather private.
Really, you have nothing to be afraid of."

His kindly eyes looked down reassuringly into hers. They seemed to reason
with her, to persuade and soothe at the same time.

But Chris's hands clung to his. "Don't--don't go!" she said. "I want
you--I want you, Jack."

"Suppose we sit down," said Jack practically. "Trevor, I wish you'd kick
that boy downstairs. It would do him good and me too. This isn't a family
conclave."

"Noel can stay," Mordaunt answered quietly. He was still looking towards
his wife, but he did not seem to be regarding her very intently. "You are
mistaken in thinking that I have anything to say to Chris in private. I
have only come to tell her what I have already told you, that Bertrand is
at Valpre, ill and wanting her. I will take her to him--if she will
come."

"Trevor!" She turned to him with eyes of sudden horror--horror so
definite that it swamped all her personal shrinking. "How is he ill?
You--you have hurt him!"

"I have done nothing to him," Mordaunt answered. "He is suffering from
heart-disease, and cannot be moved. I must start from Charing Cross in an
hour. Will you come with me?"

"To go t