He laughed quietly.  “So I should.  Then I shall owe it to you if it comes true.  I will let you know if it does.”

“You are sure to forget,” she protested.

“No.  I am sure to remember.”

She regarded him speculatively.  “I don’t like secrets,” she said.

“Haven’t you any of your own?” he asked.

“No.  At least—­” she suddenly coloured vividly under his eyes—­“none that matter.”

He sat down upon the balustrade of the balcony, bringing his eyes on a level with hers.  “None that you wouldn’t tell me,” he suggested, still faintly smiling.

She recovered from her confusion with a quick laugh.  “I shouldn’t dream of telling you—­some things,” she said.

Her hand moved a little in his as though it wanted to be free, but he held it still.  He bent towards her, his grey eyes no longer searching, only very soft and tender.

“You will when we are married, dear,” he said.

But Chris shook her head with much decision.  “Oh, no!  I couldn’t possibly.  You would disapprove far too much.  As Aunt Philippa says, you would be ‘pained beyond expression.’”

But Mordaunt only drew her nearer.  “You—­child!” he said.

She yielded, half-protesting.  “Yes, but I’m not quite a baby.  I think you ought to remember that.  Shall we go back?  I know Rupert is sniggering behind the curtain.”

“I’ll break his head if he is,” said Mordaunt; but he let her go, as she evidently desired, and prepared to follow her in.

They met Rupert sauntering out “to pay his respects,” as he termed it, though, if there were any luck going, he supposed that his future brother-in-law had secured it all.

“Thought you didn’t believe in luck,” observed Mordaunt.

“I believe in bad luck,” returned Rupert pessimistically.  “I only know the other sort by hearsay.”

“Isn’t he absurd?” laughed Chris.  “He always talks like that.  And there are crowds of people worse off than he is.”

“Query,” remarked her brother, with a shrug of the shoulders; but an instant later, aware of Mordaunt’s look, he changed the subject.

They were a small party at dinner, for there remained but Hilda Forest to complete the number.  She had only that afternoon returned to town.  Mrs. Forest was dining out, to Chris’s unfeigned relief.  For Chris was in high spirits that night, and only in her aunt’s absence could she give them full vent.

But, if gay, she was also provokingly elusive.  Mordaunt had never seen her so effervescent, so sublimely inconsequent, or so naively bewitching as she was throughout the meal.  Rupert, reckless and debonnaire, encouraged her wild mood.  As his youngest brother expressed it, he and Chris ‘generally ran amok’ when they got together.  And Hilda, the sedate, rather pensive daughter of the house, was far too gentle to restrain them.