“But I—­I have slept,” she stammered.

He put the hair gently back from her forehead.  “I know all about it,” he said.

She started away from him in sheer panic.  “About what?” she gasped, in a whisper; then, seeing his brows go up, “Oh, Trevor, I—­I’m sorry.  No, I haven’t slept very well.  But—­”

“I thought not,” he interposed quietly.  “Well, sleep now, dear.”

He turned to go, but impulsively she caught his hand, held it a moment, then suddenly put it to her lips.  But she would not look at him, would not even raise her eyes again; and he, after the briefest pause, withdrew his hand, touched her cheek with it lightly, and so left her.

When they met again at the breakfast-table she was discussing with Aunt Philippa the best means of spending the day.  Bertrand was not present.  He usually took chocolate at that hour in Mordaunt’s room, where he could continue his secretarial work uninterrupted.  Noel was not yet down.

Chris turned at once to address her husband.  “I have had a line from Max.  He is coming down for a few days I think he hasn’t been well—­overworking, he says.”

“I can scarcely believe,” said Aunt Philippa, with her acid smile, “that a Wyndham could ever suffer from that complaint.”

“They don’t over-rest, anyhow,” said Mordaunt, with a glance at his wife’s tired face.  “I shall be very pleased to see him, Chris. Write and tell him so.”

“I don’t think I need write,” she said.  “He will be here this afternoon.  Shall I ask Rupert to come over and dine, so that we can all be together—­that is, if Aunt Philippa doesn’t mind?”

“Pray do not consider me,” said Aunt Philippa.

“Do exactly as you like,” said Mordaunt quietly.  “Rupert is always welcome so far as I am concerned.”

Chris rose from the table as he sat down.  “I will send him a note at once if I may, or I shall miss the post.”

“Have you had any breakfast?” he asked, detaining her as she passed his chair.

“None at all,” said Aunt Philippa.

“Oh, Aunt Philippa, I have, indeed!” protested Chris, colouring vividly.  “Besides, I’m not hungry.”

“Besides!” echoed Mordaunt, faintly smiling.  “Drink a cup of hot milk before you go.”

She made a wry face.  “I can’t.  I hate it.  Please don’t keep me!”

“Then do as you are told,” he said.  “I thought I ordered you to stay in bed.”

“Oh, don’t be absurd!” said Chris; but she went back to her place and poured out the milk as he desired.

“Now drink it,” he said, with his eyes upon her.

She obeyed him without further protest, finally setting the cup down with a sigh of relief.

Mordaunt rose to open the door.  “You are not to do anything energetic to-day,” he said.

She threw him a smile, half-shy, half-wistful, and departed without replying.

He turned back into the room and sat down.  “I am not quite satisfied about Chris,” he said.