“Don’t distress yourself.  It is of no importance.”  Mordaunt’s tone was suddenly very deliberate.  He turned away and began to put on his coat.  “Are you ready for luncheon?  I’m going down now.”

Noel surveyed him doubtfully.  “You won’t let on I told you, will you?” he said uneasily.  “Chris may have asked me to keep it dark.”

“I don’t suppose she did.”  Very quietly Mordaunt made reply.  “She has more probably forgotten all about it.  But I won’t give you away in any case.  You are ready?  Then suppose we go!”

They descended together to find Aunt Philippa and Chris awaiting them in the hall.  Chris scarcely looked at her husband.  She was very pale.

He followed her to her end of the table to pour her out a glass of wine.

“Please don’t!” she said nervously.  “I don’t like it.  I can’t drink it.”

“I think you can,” he answered.  “Try!”

He went to his own place, and proceeded to engage Aunt Philippa in conversation.  But Aunt Philippa was looking even more severe than usual, and responded so indifferently to his efforts that he presently suffered them to flag.  There fell a dead silence.  Then Noel struck in with furious zest, and Mordaunt turned to him with relief.  But Chris scarcely opened her lips.

At the end of the meal he addressed her with quiet authority.  “Chris, you must rest this afternoon.  Your aunt will excuse you.”

“Certainly,” said Aunt Philippa stiffly.

Chris rose from the table in unbroken silence.  She came slowly down the long room.  Mordaunt got up to open the door, and followed her out.

“Don’t worry about me, please!” Chris besought him as he closed the door behind them.  “I shall be all right to-morrow.”

He ignored the protest, and accompanied her upstairs.  She glanced at him uneasily as they went.  “I can’t help being—­unhappy just for to-day,” she murmured.  “You—­you couldn’t expect me—­not to care?”

He did not speak till they reached her room.  Then:  “You saw Bertrand,” he said, in a tone that was hardly a question.

“Yes.”  She began to tremble a little.  “I am sorry,” she said.  “But—­I had to.”  She stood before him, not meeting his eyes, waiting for him to speak.  “I couldn’t let him go—­for good—­without saying good-bye,” she said, as he remained silent.

He took her gently by the shoulders.  “Chris, look at me!”

She drew back, yet in a moment with a desperate effort she raised her eyes to his.  He laid his hand upon her forehead, and looked at her long and searchingly.

She endured the look in quivering silence, but she turned so deathly pale under it that he thought she would faint.  Quietly he let her go.

“You will lie down now?” he said.

“Yes,” she answered, under her breath.

“Don’t be in a hurry to get up,” he said.  “I will explain to your aunt that I do not wish you to be disturbed, and I shall see her off myself.”