“Neither am I,” said Aunt Philippa, with unexpected severity.

He looked at her with awakened attention.  “No?” he said courteously.

“No.”  Very decidedly came Aunt Philippa’s reply.  “I intended to speak to you upon the subject, my dear Trevor, and I am glad that an early opportunity for so doing has presented itself.”

“You think she looks ill?” Mordaunt asked.

“Not at all,” said Aunt Philippa.  “The intense heat we have had lately is quite sufficient to account for her jaded looks.  She has probably also been fretting unreasonably over the death of her dog.  I believe that animal was the only thing in the world she ever really cared for.”

Mordaunt rested his chin on his hand, and looked at her thoughtfully.  “Indeed!” he said.

Neither his voice nor his face expressed anything whatever beyond a decorous gravity.  Aunt Philippa began to feel slightly exasperated.

“She will get over that,” she said, with a confidence that held more of contempt than tolerance.  “None of the Wyndhams are fundamentally capable of taking anything seriously for long.  You must have discovered their instability for yourself by this time.”

“Not with respect to Chris.”  Was there a hint of sternness underlying the placidity of the rejoinder?  There might have been, but Aunt Philippa was too intent upon the matter she had taken in hand to notice it.

“Oh, well,” she said, “you haven’t been married six weeks yet, have you?  You will see what I mean sooner or later.  But you may take it from me that all of them—­Chris included—­are without an atom of solidity in their composition.  I warn you, Trevor, very seriously; they are not to be depended upon.”

Mordaunt heard her without changing his position.  His eyes looked straight at her from under lids that never stirred.  “Is that what you have to say to me?” he asked, after a moment.

“It leads to what I have to say,” returned Aunt Philippa with dignity.

She was quite in her element now, and enjoying herself far too thoroughly to be lightly disconcerted.

“Pray finish!” he said.

That gave her momentary pause.  “I am speaking solely for your welfare,” she told him.

“I do not question it,” he returned.

Yet even she was aware that his stillness was not all the outcome of courteous attention.  There was about it a restraint which made itself felt, as it were, in spite of him, a dominance which she set down to his forceful personality.

“The subject upon which I chiefly desire to speak a word of warning,” she said, “is the presence in the house—­the constant presence—­of your young French secretary.”

“Yes?” said Mordaunt.

He betrayed no surprise, but the word fell curtly, as if he found himself face to face with an unpleasant task and desired to be through with it as quickly as possible.

Aunt Philippa proceeded with just a hint of caution.  “My dear Trevor, surely you are aware of the danger!”