It seemed to him that it was for this alone that he had been introduced once more into her book of life.  All his hopes and dreams had passed; he was an old man before his time; but this one thing, it seemed, was left to him.  For a while longer his name would figure with hers across the page.  Only when the page turned his part would be done.  She would not need him then.  She would be a woman; and—­eh bien, it was only the child Chris who could ever be expected to need him now.  When she ceased to be a child the need—­if such, indeed, existed—­would be for ever past; and he would be no more to her than a memory—­the memory of one who had played with her a while in the happy land of her childhood and had shared with her the picnics of those summer days.

This was the sole remaining aspiration of Bertrand de Montville—­the man who in the arrogance of his youth had diced with the gods, and had lost the cast.

CHAPTER XIV

A REVELATION

“My dear, it is quite useless for you to attempt to justify your conduct, for it was simply inexcusable.  No argument can possibly alter that fact.  Everyone was waiting about for a considerable time in the supper-room, desirous of drinking your health, while you, it transpires, were hiding in a corner with this very questionable foreigner whom Trevor has been eccentric enough to befriend, but of whom I can discover practically nothing.”

“But Trevor knows all about him, Aunt Philippa,” pleaded Chris.

“That,” said Aunt Philippa, “may or may not be the case.  But so long as you are in my charge, I, and not Trevor, am the one to direct your choice of acquaintances, and I very strongly object to the inclusion of this Frenchman in the number.  It is my desire, Chris, that you do not see him again during the rest of the time that you are under my roof.  I intend to speak to Trevor upon the matter at the earliest opportunity.  I consider that, in the face of what has occurred, he would be extremely ill-advised to retain this unknown foreigner in his employment, though I should imagine he has already arrived at that conclusion for himself.  I could see that he was seriously displeased by your behaviour last night.”

“Oh, was he?” said Chris blankly.  “He didn’t say so.”

“He probably realized that it would be useless to express his displeasure at such a time.  But let me warn you, Chris. He is not a man to stand any trifling.  I have heard it from several quarters.  Jack, as you are aware, knows him well, and he will tell you the same.  You may try his patience too far, and that, I presume, is not your intention.  Should it happen, I think that you would regret it all your life.”

“But I haven’t trifled!  I don’t trifle!” protested Chris, divided between distress and indignation.

Aunt Philippa smiled unpleasantly—­she seldom displayed any other variety of smile.  “That, my dear, is very much a matter of opinion.  You had better go now to Hilda.  She is waiting to see your bridesmaid’s dress tried on.”