"Isn't he coming to your birthday party?" asked Jack Forest, strolling up at that moment.
He addressed Chris, but he looked at his mother, who, after the briefest pause, made reply, "Of course Chris can ask whom she likes."
"Oh, can I?" exclaimed Chris. "How heavenly! Then I will get Rupert to come too. I wish Noel might, but I suppose he is out of the question."
She slipped a hand surreptitiously inside Jack's arm as her aunt moved away, and squeezed it. She knew quite well that the party itself had been of his devising—an informal dance to celebrate her twenty-first birthday, which was less than a fortnight away.
Jack smiled upon her indulgently. "Are you going to ask me to your birthday party, Chris?"
"No," said Chris. "I shall never ask you anywhere. You have a free pass always so far as I am concerned."
He made her a low bow. "You listening, Trevor? I'll bet she never said that to you."
But Chris turned swiftly away towards her fiancé. "There is no need to say anything of that sort to Trevor," she said, in her quick way. "He understands without."
"Thank you," said Trevor quietly.
Jack laughed. "One to you, my boy! I admit it frankly. By the way, I heard a funny story about you yesterday. Someone said you were turning your rooms in Clive Street into a home for sick organ-grinders. Is it true by any chance?"