“I suppose we can put up with her for a day or two,” said Mordaunt.

Her smile was slightly strained as she returned to the letter.  “I suppose we shall have to.”

He came and stood beside her, looking down at her bent head.  The burnished hair shone warmly golden in the evening sunlight.  He laid a quiet hand upon it.  She started at his touch, and then sat very still.

“I have heard from Hilda too,” she said, after a moment.  “They are staying at Graysdale.  Percy fishes all day and she sketches, when they are not motoring.  It was very sweet of her to write by return.”

A tear fell suddenly upon the open page.  She covered it hastily with her hand.  Her husband’s pressed her head very tenderly.

“Chris,” he said gently, “I wonder if you would like to go away for a little?”

She glanced up quickly, eagerly, with wet lashes.  “Oh, Trevor!” she breathed.

He sat down beside her on the couch.  “We will go to-morrow if you like,” he said.

She slipped her hand into his.  “I should love it!”

“Would you?” he said.  “I have been thinking of it for some days, but I wasn’t sure you would care for the idea.”

“But your work?” she said.  “Those articles you wanted to finish?  And that political book of yours?  And the alterations in the north wing, will they be able to get on with those with you away?”

“The literary work must stand over for a week or two,” he said.  “I shall leave Bertrand in charge of the rest.”

“Bertrand!” She opened her blue eyes wide.  “But—­but he would be away, wouldn’t he?” Then quickly:  “He would go with us, of course?  You didn’t mean to leave him behind?”

He raised his brows ever so slightly.  “I meant just us two, dear,” he said.  “Wouldn’t you care for that?”

“Oh!” said Chris blankly.  “But, Trevor, we couldn’t possibly leave him.  He isn’t well.  I—­I shouldn’t be happy about him.  Besides—­besides—­” Her words faltered under his straight look; she made a little appealing gesture towards him.  “Please understand,” she said.

He took both her hands into his.  “My dear, I do understand,” he said, with the utmost kindness.  “But I think he can be trusted to take care of himself for a little while.  If you have any doubts upon the subject, ask him.”

She shook her head.  “No, it wouldn’t do.  I—­I’d really rather not go away if it means—­that.  Besides, there is Noel.  And next week there will be Aunt Philippa.  I think we had better give up the idea, Trevor; I do really, anyhow for the present.”  She leaned nearer to him; her eyes looked pleadingly into his.  “Say you don’t mind,” she begged him, a little tremulously.

“I am only thinking of you, dear,” he answered.

She smiled with lips that quivered.  “Well, don’t think of me—­at least, not too much.  I only want you just to be kind to me, that’s all.  I—­I shall be myself presently.  You’re very good to be so patient.”