“Oh, Bertie,” she cried, between tears and laughter, “it is good to see you again!”

He bent very low, so low that she only saw the top of his black head.  “Permit me to offer my felicitations,” he said, in a voice that was scarcely audible.

Her hands closed tightly for a second upon his.  “You are pleased, Bertie?” she said, with a quickening of the breath.

He straightened himself instantly; he looked into her eyes.  “But you are happy, yes?” he questioned.

“Of course,” she told him hurriedly.

He smiled—­the ready smile with which he had learned to mask his soul. “Alors, I am pleased,” he said.

He helped her into the carriage, and turned, still smiling, to the man behind her.  Yet he flinched ever so slightly from the grip of Mordaunt’s hand.  It was the merest gesture, scarcely perceptible; in a moment he had covered it with the quick courtesy of his race.  But Mordaunt was aware of it, and for a single instant he wondered.

He took his place beside his bride, who tucked her hand inside his arm, with a little sob of sheer relief.

“Did I sound very squeaky, Trevor?  I tried not to squeak.”

He forgot Bertrand and everyone else but the trembling girl by his side.  He laid a soothing hand on hers.

“My dear, you did splendidly.  It wasn’t so very terrifying, was it?”

“It was appalling,” said Chris.  “I kept saying to myself, ’Just a little longer and then that lovely new motor—­my motor—­and home.’  You are going to give me my first lesson in driving to-day, aren’t you?  Say yes!”

He said “Yes,” feeling that he was bestowing a reward for good behaviour.

She squeezed his arm.  “And isn’t it nice,” she whispered, with shining eyes, “to feel that we are really going to stay there when we get there?”

He pressed the small, confiding hand.  “You are glad, then, Chris?” he said.

“Oh, my dear, I should think I am!” she made answer.  “I’ve been counting the days to the one when I shan’t have to peck Aunt Philippa good-night.  She never kisses properly and she won’t let me.  She says it’s childish and unrestrained.”  She laid her cheek suddenly against his shoulder.  “I’ve had no one to hug for ever so long—­except Cinders,” she said.

“Hasn’t Cinders been enough?” he asked, with a hint of surprise.

She turned her face upwards quickly.  “Trevor, you’re not to laugh at me!  It isn’t fair.”

He smiled a little.  “I am not laughing, Chris, I assure you.  I have always thought until this moment that Cinders was more precious to you than anyone else in the world.”

“Oh, that’s because you’re a man,” said Chris inconsequently.  “Men always have absurd theories about women and the things they care for.  As if we can’t love heaps of people at the same time!”

“You can only love one person best,” he pointed out.

“At a time,” supplemented Chris, with a merry smile.  “And you choose your person according to your mood.  At least, I do.  Oh, Trevor,” with a sudden change of tone, “don’t look!  There’s a hearse!”