“In one thing you are mistaken, Mr. Linburne,” he said.  “I do care whether or not I see Miss Fenimer.”

Linburne was angry at Christine, not only for insisting on seeing Riatt, but for the lovely smile with which she had greeted him.  He was glad of an outlet for his feelings.

He almost shrugged his shoulders.  “An outsider can only judge by your conduct, Mr. Riatt,” he answered.  “And I may tell you that you have subjected Miss Fenimer to a good deal of disagreeable gossip by your apparently caring so little.”

“And others by apparently caring so much,” said Max.

Christine was the only one who recognized at once the fact that both men were angry; and she did not pour oil on the waters by laughing gaily.  “You can’t find any subject for argument there,” she observed, “for you are both perfectly right.  You have both made me the subject of gossip; but don’t let it worry you, for my best friends have long ago accustomed me to that.”

“I hope you won’t think I’m asking too much, Mr. Riatt,” said Linburne, with a politeness that only accentuated his irritation, “in suggesting that as your visit is, I believe, unexpected, and as mine is an appointment of some standing, that you will go away and let me finish my conversation with Miss Fenimer.”

Max smiled.  “Oddly enough,” he said, “I was about to make the same request to you.  But I suppose we must let Miss Fenimer settle the question.”

Christine smiled like an angel.  “Can’t we have a nice time as we are?” she asked.

This frivolous reply was properly ignored by both men, and Riatt went on:  “Don’t you think you ought to consider the fact that Miss Fenimer and I are engaged?”

“Miss Fenimer assures me she does not intend to marry you.”

“And may I ask if you consider that she does intend to marry you—­that is if you should happen to become marriageable?”

“That is a question between her and me,” returned Linburne.

Riatt laughed.  “I see,” he said.  “The matrimonial plans of my future wife are no affair of mine?” And for an instant he felt his most proprietary rights were being invaded.

“Miss Fenimer is not your future wife.”

“Well, Mr. Linburne, I hear you say so.”

“You shall hear her say so,” answered Linburne.  “Christine,” he added peremptorily, “tell Riatt what you have just been telling me.”

There was a long painful silence.  Both men stood looking intently at Christine, who sat with her head erect, staring ahead of her like a sphinx, but saying nothing.  After a moment she glanced up at Max’s face, as if she expected to find there an answer to her problem.  She did not look at Linburne.

“Christine,” said Max very gently, “what have you told Mr. Linburne?”

“She has told me everything,” answered Linburne impetuously, and then seeing by the glance that the two others exchanged that such was not the case, his temper got the best of him.