He did not speak at once.  She waited with a beating heart.

“Well?” he said, and at the sound of his voice she thrilled with relief.  “It’s as well to look all round a thing, I admit.  We will consider that supposition if you like.  Say something happens to prevent our marriage.  What then?  Is it to put an end to our friendship also?”

She turned slightly towards him.  “I might never be able to repay you,” she murmured.

“I see.  And that would trouble you—­even though we remained friends?”

She was silent.

“It has always been a puzzle to me,” he said, “why money—­which is the most ordinary thing in life—­is the one thing that friends scruple to accept from each other.  Gifts of any other description, all sorts of sacrifices, down to life itself, are offered and taken with no scruple of pride.  But when it comes to money, which is of very small value in comparison, people begin to worry.  Why, Chris, what are pounds, shillings, and pence between you and me?  Surely we have climbed above that sort of thing, haven’t we?”

The tenderness of his tone moved her, in a fashion compelled her.  She went into his arms impulsively, she clung about his neck.  Yet even then her scruples were not quite laid to rest.

“But—­Trevor dear—­just supposing we quarrelled?  We might, you know, about Cinders or anything.  And then—­and then—­”

“My dear,” he said, “we certainly shall not quarrel about Cinders.  I can’t for the life of me picture myself quarrelling with you under any circumstances whatsoever.  And even if we did, I don’t think you would hate me so badly as to grudge me the satisfaction of knowing that I had been of use to you at an awkward moment.  Don’t you think we are getting rather morbid, Chris?”

“I don’t know,” she said, clinging closer.  “I only know that you are miles and miles too good for me.  And whatever makes you want me I can’t think.”

He put his hand under her chin, and turned her face up to his own.  “I’ll tell you another time.  At the present moment I want to talk about—­getting married.”

He spoke the last two words very softly, holding her close lest she should shrink away.

But Chris, with her eyes on his, kept still and silent in his arms.  Only she turned rather white.

He continued with the utmost gentleness.  “Your cousin is going to be married on the fifteenth of this month.  Can’t we arrange our wedding for the fifteenth of next?”

“The fifteenth!” said Chris.  “Isn’t that St. Swithin’s Day?”

She spoke so briskly that even Mordaunt was for the moment taken by surprise.

“St. Swithin’s Day!” he echoed.  “Well, what of it?”

She broke into her gay laugh.  “Oh, please not St. Swithin’s Day!  Just imagine if it rained!”

“Chris!” he said.  “You’re incorrigible!”

His arms had slackened, and she drew away from him, breathing rather quickly.