“Oh, go to the devil!” he cried violently, and with the words stamped furiously from the room.

Bertrand was left staring after him, petrified with amazement—­too astounded to be angry.

At the end of a lengthy pause he turned and pocketed Mordaunt’s keys, and rang the bell for Holmes to clear up the mess on the floor.

“Mais ces anglais!” he murmured to himself, with a whimsical shrug of the shoulders. “Comme ils sont droles!”

CHAPTER VII

THE ENEMY

Mrs. Pouncefort’s garden-party was an annual affair of some importance to which everyone, from the County downwards, was bidden, and from which very few absented themselves.

The Pouncefort entertainments were generally upon a lavish scale, were also largely attended by the military element of Sandacre society, and were invariably described in the local journals as “very smart affairs.”

Had Chris been in her normal spirits she would have hailed the occasion with delight.  She knew a good many people in the neighbourhood, and she was sure to meet all her friends there.  It was, moreover, for this that she had successfully angled for an invitation for Bertrand.  But when the day came she would have given a good deal for a legitimate excuse for remaining at home.  The weather was hot, and she felt weary and disinclined for gaiety.

She said no word of her reluctance, however, for Bertrand had accepted his inclusion in the invitation with docility, and since she had decided that a little social change would be good for him, she would not draw back herself lest he should be tempted to do likewise.

Bertrand was her chief thought just then.  She knew that her husband was dissatisfied with regard to his health, and undoubtedly he looked far from well, though he himself invariably declared that it was only the heat, and persistently refused to see a doctor.  Not even Chris could shake this resolution of his, and he was so distressed when Mordaunt would not let him work that to keep him quiet Mordaunt was obliged to let him do a little.  He made it as little as he could, however, and Bertrand spent a good deal of his time in the garden with Chris in consequence.

It certainly cheered her to have him, and for that reason he was the less inclined to rebel against the edict that sent him there.  They had begun to read French together, Chris having developed a sudden keenness for the language which he was delighted to encourage.  That the original idea had been devised for his pleasure he shrewdly suspected, but the carrying out of it contributed undoubtedly to her own.  It occupied her thoughts and energies, and that was what she needed just then.

He knew perfectly well that she was as disinclined for social amusements as he was himself, but the same motive that prompted her urged him also.  Each went with reluctance, but without protest.