Mrs. Forest acknowledged the introduction with extreme chilliness.  She strongly disapproved of Chris’s faculty for developing unexpected friendships.  The child was so regrettably free-and-easy in all her ways.  Of course, if Trevor Mordaunt approved of their intimacy, and apparently he did, there was nothing to be said, but she herself could not regard it with favour.  Once more she congratulated herself that her responsibilities where Chris was concerned were nearly at an end.

But if her greeting were cold, Bertrand scarcely had time to remark it, for his attention was instantly diverted by the red-haired youth who lounged behind her.  Max, whose presence had been annoying his aunt all day, thrust out a welcoming hand to the new-comer.

“Hullo!” he said.  “You, is it?”

Bertrand raised his brows.  He gave his hand, after an instant’s hesitation, with a non-committing, “Myself—­yes.”

Max drew him aside out of the crowd.  “It’s all right.  I’m Chris’s brother, and I shan’t give you away.  But how long do you expect to remain incog., I wonder?  I knew your face the moment I saw you on the stairs.”

“You know me?” said Bertrand, drawing back a little.

“Of course I know you.  Who could help it?  Your face is one of the best known in Europe.  So you are the hero that Chris used to worship at Valpre!  She mentioned the one fact to me, but not the other.  She knows, I suppose?”

“Ah, yes, but it is a secret.”  Bertrand spoke wearily, as if reluctant to discuss the matter.  “It is not my desire to be recognized.  She knows that also.”

“I never knew Chris could keep a secret before,” commented Max.

A quick gleam shot up in the Frenchman’s eyes.  “Then you do not know her very well,” he said.

Max smiled shrewdly, but did not contest the point.  He seldom argued, and Chris herself at this moment intervened.

“Bertie, I’ve saved the supper extras for you.  Don’t forget.  Max, you know most of the people here.  Do introduce him, or find Jack—­he will.  I’m dancing the first with Trevor.  Good-bye!”

She flashed her smile upon him, and was gone.  Bertrand stood and watched her as she went away through the throng with Trevor Mordaunt.  Everyone watched her, and nearly everyone smiled.  She was so naively, so sublimely happy.

Her gay young laugh rang out as they began to dance.  “Isn’t it fun?” she said; and then, with her eyes turned to his, “Trevor, I’ve such a crowd of things to thank you for that I don’t know where to begin.”

“Then, my dear child, don’t begin!” he said, with his indulgent smile.

She frowned at him.  “You are not to call me ‘child’ any longer.  I’m grown-up.”

His smile remained.  “Since when?” he said.

“That’s a rude question which I am not going to answer.  But, Trevor, you—­you shouldn’t have sent me all that money.  It’s much more than I want.”