“She is not jealous, but I suppose it may hurt her feelings a little that I shouldn’t—­”

“Oh, nonsense, Max, she loves you.  Do you think I could be deceived on such a subject?  She watches you all the time.  She loves you.  And I think it would be very impertinent of her not to.  I should think very poorly of her if she didn’t.  Imagine what she must be undergoing at this moment, by our prolonged absence.”

“Perhaps, we’d better be going back,” said Riatt calmly.

Christine barred the door, spreading out both her arms.

“She thinks you’re making love to me, Max.”

“And yet, Christine, I’m not.”

“But she doesn’t know that; she doesn’t know what an immovable iceberg you are.”

“No, indeed she doesn’t.”

Christine’s manner again changed utterly.  All the playfulness disappeared.  “You mean,” she said, “that you’re not cold and immovable with her?”

“What’s the use of my telling you anything, if you don’t believe me?” The idea of teasing Christine had never occurred to him before, but he thought highly of it.  She came toward him at once.

“Oh, Max, my dear,” she said, “don’t be horrid, when I’m having such a wretched time anyhow.  Don’t you think you might pretend to care for me just a little?”

Riatt rose.  “Yes, I do,” he said, “and so I shall, in public.”

Christine was all the gentle, wistful child immediately.

“Never when we’re alone?” she asked.

Max lit a cigarette briskly.  “I don’t suppose we shall very often be alone,” he returned.  “After all, why should we?”

She looked at him like a wounded bird:  “No reason if you don’t want to.”

At this moment the door opened and her father came in.

“Come, come, my dear, this is no way to treat your guests,” he said.  “I must really insist that you go back to the drawing-room.  Upon my word, Riatt, you ought not to keep her like this.”

“It was a great temptation to have her a few minutes to myself, Mr. Fenimer,” said Max, and Christine grinned gratefully at him behind her father’s back.

“Very likely, very likely,” said Mr. Fenimer crossly, “but I want to go to the club, and how can I, unless she goes back?  You can’t think only of yourself, my dear fellow.”

Riatt admitted that this was true and he and Christine went back to the drawing-room.

Very soon afterwards, he gave Dorothy a keen prolonged look, which she did not misunderstand.  She got up at once and said good night.  In the taxicab, he questioned her at once as to her impressions.

“I didn’t like Mr. Linburne or Mrs. Almar at all, Max.  She kept asking me the greatest number of questions about you and the story of your life.  What interest has she in you, I wonder?”

“None,” answered Riatt, but added rather quickly, “And what did you think of Linburne?”

“I couldn’t bear him, though I own he’s nice looking.  But he told Mrs. Almar a story—­I could not help hearing—­I never heard such a story in my life.”