Fortunately she did not say it aloud, for Mrs. Ussher came down at this moment, and soon Hickson, and then in an incredibly short space of time Riatt himself.

Undoubtedly he would do magnificently.  He stood the test even of evening clothes, though Christine fancied as she studied him that she would alter his style of collars.  They would be better higher.  Mrs. Ussher brought him over at once and introduced him.

“This is my cousin Max, Christine, about whom I’ve talked so much.  Max, this is Miss Fenimer.”

They smiled at each other with a common impulse not to confess that earlier meeting on the stairs; and he was just about to settle down beside her, when the door opened and, last of all, Mrs. Almar came in.  She was wearing her flame-color and lilac dress.  Christine knew she would have it on; knew that she saved it for the greatest moments.  She did not advance very far into the room, but stood looking around her.

“Well,” she said, “where is Cousin Max?”

It must not be supposed from this question that she had not seen him almost through the crack of the door as the butler opened it for her; but by speaking just when and where she did, she forced him to get up from Christine’s side, and come to where she was to be introduced to her.  Then as dinner was at the same instant announced, she put her hand on his arm.

“Take me in to dinner, Cousin Max,” she said.

“I did not know he was your cousin,” said Wickham, who suffered from the fatal tendency in moments of doubt to say something.

Mrs. Almar looked at Riatt.

“Will you be a cousin to me?” she asked.  “It commits you to nothing.”

“I don’t consider that an advantage,” he returned, drawing his elbow slightly inward, so that her hand, if not actually pressed, was made to feel secure upon his arm.  “There are some things I wouldn’t a bit mind being committed to.”

Mrs. Almar moved her black head from side to side.

“You must be more specific,” she said, “or I shan’t understand you.”

“More specific in words?” he inquired gently.  They were crossing the hall, and had a sort of privacy for an instant.

“Dear me,” she returned, “you do move rather rapidly, don’t you?”

“I’m an aviator, you see,” he answered.

Across the table Christine was trying to be gracious and graceful while she put up with Hickson, but she was feeling as any honest captain feels at having a prize cut out from under his very nose.

Mrs. Ussher seeing this, decided that such methods as Nancy’s ought not to prevail; she seated herself on Max’s other side, and instantly engaged in conversation.

“Don’t you think my dear little Christine is an angel?” she said, without any encumbering subtility.

“She certainly looks like one.”

“Who looks like what?” asked Mrs. Almar, from his other side.  She had had this sort of thing tried too often not to be on her guard.