She hesitated momentarily.  “I—­I’m afraid rather a lot, Trevor.”

“How much?” he repeated; and then, as she still hesitated, his hold tightened and his face grew grave.  He looked straight down into her eyes.  “Chris,” he said, “you haven’t forgotten, have you, that it is against my wish that you should let your brothers have money?”

She met the look unflinching.  “No, Trevor.”

He released her without further question.  “Then you need not be afraid to tell me how much.”

She made a little grimace.  The part was getting easier to play.  She was beginning to feel almost natural.  But the other woman—­the woman of the world who surely had never been Chris Wyndham—­was still there in the background watching the farce and smiling cynically.  Chris was beginning to be afraid of this new personality of hers.  It was infinitely more formidable than her husband had ever been.

“How much, dear?” Mordaunt asked quietly.

She started slightly.  “Thirty pounds,” she said.

“Your account is overdrawn to that amount?”

“Yes.”  She glanced at him nervously.  “I am very sorry,” she said again.

He remained grave, but perfectly kind.  “I will pay in fifty pounds to-morrow,” he said.  “That will take you to the end of the month.”

“Oh, thank you, Trevor!” She threw him a quick smile of gratitude.  “I will pay you back as soon as ever I can.”

“No, it isn’t a loan,” he said.

“Oh, don’t give it me!” Impulsively she broke in upon his words.  It was growing strangely easy, this part she had to play.  Or had she indeed been bewitched for those few dreadful seconds?  Was she in reality herself again, the quick-hearted Chris he knew, and that other woman but a phantom born of the horrible strain she had undergone?  She told herself that this was the true explanation, even while in her heart she knew otherwise.

“Don’t give it me,” she said again.  “I would really rather you didn’t.”

“Why?” he asked.

She put out her hand to him with a little movement of entreaty.  “I can’t explain.  But—­I would like to pay it back if you don’t mind.”

He smiled at her persistence.  “No, I don’t mind, if you particularly wish it.  Now come into my room for a moment.  I want to show you something.”

She went with him, her hand in his, not willingly but because she could not do otherwise.

He led her to the table, and pointed out a box upon it.  “That is for you, Chris.”

“For me!” She looked at him as if startled.  “What is it, Trevor?”

“Open it and see,” he said.

She hesitated.  She seemed almost afraid.  “I hope it isn’t anything very—­very—­”

“Open it and see,” he repeated.

She obeyed him with hands that had begun to tremble, took out an object wrapped in tissue-paper, unfolded the coverings, and disclosed a jewel-case.