“This is my castle,” said Chris.  “This is where I hide when I don’t want anyone to find me.”

She stretched back a hand to her husband, and led him into her shadowy domain.

“The boys used to call it Hades,” she said, in a hushed voice.  “And I used to pretend I was Persephone.  I did so wish Pluto would appear some day with his chariot and his black horses and take me underground.  But,” with a sigh, “he never did.”

“Let us hope you have been reserved for a happier fate,” Mordaunt said, with his arm about her.

She flashed him her quick smile.  “You instead of Pluto!  But I always thought he was rather fascinating, and I longed to see the underworld.”

“I think the sunshine suits you best,” he said.

“Oh yes, but just to see—­just to know what it’s like!  I do so love exploring,” insisted Chris.

He smiled and drew her out of her gloomy retreat.  “Sometimes it’s better not to know too much,” he said.

“But one couldn’t,” she protested.  “All knowledge is gain.”

“Of a sort,” he said.  “But it is not always to be desired on that account.”

A sudden memory went through Chris. She gave a sharp shudder.  “Oh no!” she said.  “One doesn’t want to know horrid things!  I forgot that.”

He looked at her interrogatively, but she turned her face away.  “Let’s go back to the house.  I wonder where Cinders is.”

They returned to the house, and again Chris was lost in delight.  A great deal yet remained to be done, but the completed portion was all that could be desired.  They had chosen much of the furniture together, and she spent most of the evening in arranging it, with her husband’s assistance, to her satisfaction.

But when at length the hour for dinner arrived he would not suffer her to do anything further.

“I believe you have done too much as it is,” he said, “and after dinner I shall have something to show you.”

She yielded readily enough.  She certainly was tired.  “I feel as if to-day had lasted for about six weeks,” she said.

But her animation did not wane in spite of this, and she would even have returned to her labours after they had dined had Mordaunt permitted it.  He was firm upon this point, however, and again without protest she yielded.

“You were going to show me something.  What was it?”

“To be sure,” he said.  “I was going to show you how to write a cheque.  Come over to the writing-table and see how it is done.”

Chris went, looking mystified.  “But I shall never write cheques, Trevor,” she said.

“No?  Why not?”

He drew up a chair for her and knelt down beside her.

“You are a woman of property now, Chris,” he said, and laid a new cheque-book on the pad in front of her.

Chris gazed at it, wide-eyed.  “But, Trevor, I haven’t got any money at the bank, have I?”

“Plenty,” he said, with a smile—­“in fact, a very large sum indeed which will have to be invested in your name.  That we will go into another day, but for present needs, if you are wanting money—­”