“Oh, don’t be silly!” said Chris, colouring very deeply.  “How could we possibly?  Everyone would say I was marrying him for his money?”

“And that is not so?” questioned Rupert.

“Of course it isn’t!” She spoke with a vehemence almost fiery.  “I—­I’m not such a pig as that!”

“No?” He leaned his head back upon the cushion and gazed up at her flushed face.  “What are you marrying him for?” he asked.

Chris looked back at him with a hint of defiance in her blue eyes.  “What do most people marry for?” she demanded.

He laughed carelessly.  “Heaven knows!  Generally because they’re stupid asses.  The men want housekeepers and the women want houses, and neither want to pay for such luxuries.  Those are the two principal reasons, if you ask me.”

Chris jumped off the arm of his chair with an abruptness that seemed to indicate some perturbation of spirit.  She went to one of the long windows that looked across the quiet square.

“Those are not our reasons, anyhow,” she said, after a moment, with her back to the cynic in the chair.

He turned his head at her words and smiled, a mischievous boyish smile that proclaimed their relationship on the instant.

“Ye gods!” he ejaculated.  “Is it possible that you’re in love with him?”

Chris was silent.  She seemed to be watching something in the road below her with absorbing interest.

“You needn’t trouble to keep your back turned,” gibed the brotherly voice behind her.  “I can see you are the colour of beetroot even at this distance.  Curious, very!  But I’m glad you are so becomingly modest.  It’s the first indication of the virtue that I have ever detected in you.”

“You beast!” said Chris.

She whirled suddenly round, half-laughing, half-resentful, seized a book from a table near, and hurled it with accurate aim at her brother’s head.

He flung up a dexterous hand and caught it just as the door opened to admit Mordaunt, who had been asked to dine to meet his future brother-in-law.

Rupert was on his feet in a moment.  With the book pressed against his heart, he swept a low bow to the advancing stranger.

“You come in the nick of time,” he observed, “to preserve me from my sister’s fratricidal intentions.  Perhaps you would like to arbitrate.  The offence was that I accused her of being in love—­with you, of course.  She seems to think the assertion unwarrantable.”

“Oh, Trevor, don’t listen!” besought Chris.  “He only goes on like that because he thinks it’s clever.  Do snub him as he deserves!”

“Pray do!” said Rupert.  “Begin by asking him how old he is, and whether he knows his nine-times backwards yet.  Also—­”

“Also,” broke in Mordaunt, with a smile, “if he can’t find something more profitable to do than to tease his small sister.”  He extended a quiet hand.  “I have been wanting to make your acquaintance for some time.  In fact, I was contemplating running down to Sandacre for the purpose.”