“Noel!”

It was not Aunt Philippa’s voice this time, and it had in it so firm a note of authority that instinctively Noel turned.

Mordaunt, just returned from a ride, was standing in his shirt-sleeves at an open window above them.  All the colour went out of Chris’s face at sight of him, but he did not look at her.

“Come up here,” he said to Noel.  “I want to speak to you.”

“Not coming,” said Noel promptly.

“Come up here,” Mordaunt repeated.

“What for?” Noel looked up at him, hands in pockets.  “You’ll be late for lunch if you don’t buck up,” he remarked, with a smile of cheery impudence.

His brother-in-law’s face did not reflect his smile.  It was grimly determined.  “Come up here,” he said again.

“Do go, Noel,” Chris murmured uneasily.

“I won’t,” said Noel doggedly.  “I’m not going to be pitched into for nothing.  It was you who told the lie, not me.”

“Oh, don’t be absurd!” exclaimed Chris, in a fever of impatience.  “Surely you’re not afraid of him!”

“Anyone can see you are,” retorted Noel.  “I’ll bet you daren’t go yourself!”

She turned from him sharply without another word, and entered the house.

She met her husband on the threshold of his room, and pushed him impulsively back, her hands against his breast.

“Trevor, please don’t be angry with him.  He—­we often go on like that.  There is nothing to be angry about—­indeed.”

He took her hands and held them.  She was panting a little; he waited while she recovered herself.  Then, “Chris,” he said very gently, “don’t you think it is time you left off being afraid of me?”

“But when you are angry—­” murmured Chris.

“You have never seen me angry yet.”

“You are not angry with Noel?” she asked quickly.

He smiled a little.  “My dear child, Noel is no more capable of making me angry than that fly on the ceiling.  But I am not going to have him behaving badly for all that.”

“But he didn’t,” she urged, in distress.  “It was all my fault.  Trevor—­Trevor, please don’t say any more!  He was quite right.  I—­I didn’t tell the truth.”

She made the confession in a broken whisper, with her face hidden against him.  But a moment later she had sprung away in haste, for there came the clatter of careless feet upon the stairs, and Noel dashed suddenly upon the scene.

“Oh, I say, do stop jawing and come down,” he said as he presented himself.  “Poor Aunt Phil is ravenous for her lunch.  What do you want me for, Trevor?”

But Mordaunt turned his back abruptly.  “I don’t want you now,” he said.  “You can go.”

“Dash it!” Noel said.  “What a rotter you are!” He flung himself full length upon the window-seat with elaborate nonchalance.  “Run along, Chris,” he said.  “We’re going to talk politics.  Shut the door after you.  That’s right.  Now, my good brother-in-law, what can I do for you?”