He was actually on the doorstep when Jack came striding after him.  “I say, Chris wants you.  I forgot to mention it.  Make my apologies, for Heaven’s sake!  She must have been waiting an hour or more.”

“What?” Mordaunt turned back sharply, frowning.

“Don’t scowl, there’s a dear chap,” said Jack.  “I’m awfully sorry.  I had such a shoal of things to see to.  She’s upstairs, right at the top of the house, first door you come to.  She said you were to go up and have tea with her and Cinders.  Really, I’m horribly sorry.”

“All right.  So you ought to be,” Mordaunt said, and left him to his regrets.

He was somewhat breathless when he arrived outside the door of Chris’s little sanctum, but he did not pause on that account.  He knocked with his hand already upon the handle, and almost immediately turned it.

“I can come in?” he asked.

A muffled bark from Cinders was the only answer—­a warning bark, as though he would have the intruder tread softly.

Mordaunt trod softly in consequence, softly entered, softly closed the door.

He found his little fiancee crouched on the floor beside an ancient sofa, her arms resting upon it and her head sunk upon them.  Cinders, very alert, bristling with importance, mounted guard on the sofa itself.

For Chris was asleep, curled up in her bridesmaid finery, a study in white and blue, with a single splash of vivid red-gold where the sunlight touched her hair.

Cinders growled below his breath as Mordaunt approached.  He also wagged his tail, though without effusion.  The visitor was welcome so far as he was concerned, but he must make no disturbance.  A canny little beast was Cinders.

And so, noiselessly, Mordaunt drew near, and bent above the child upon the floor.  He saw that she had been crying.  Even in repose her face looked wan, and there was a soaked morsel of lace that had evidently been quite inadequate for the occasion crumpled up in one hand.

What was the trouble? he wondered, and wished with all his heart that Cinders could impart it.  He had no doubt that Cinders knew.

It seemed almost cruel to awake her, but neither could he bring himself to leave her as she was.  He looked to Cinders for inspiration.  And Cinders, with a flash of intelligence that proved him more than beast, if less than human, lowered his queer little muzzle and licked his mistress’s face.

That roused her.  She stretched out her arms with a vague, sleepy murmur, smiled, opened her eyes.

“Oh, Trevor!” she said.  “You!”

He stooped over her.  “Chris, is anything the matter?”

She looked at him.  “I don’t know,” she said slowly.  “I forget.”

“Poor child!” he said.  “It’s a shame to make you remember.  But I’m afraid it is inevitable.  Won’t you lie on the sofa?  You will find it more comfortable.”

“No,” said Chris.  “I like the floor the best.  You can sit on the sofa, if Cinders doesn’t mind.  Has everyone gone, downstairs?  Hasn’t it been a dreadful day?” She leaned her head against his knee with a sigh of weariness.  “I do think getting married is a dreadful business,” she said.