"I am—quite sure," she said in a whisper. "And I—I don't like you to look at me like that."
He stood still, suffering himself to be so blinded, till, gaining confidence, she took her hand away.
"You won't ask me again, please, Trevor?" she said.
He smiled at her very kindly, but his voice, as he made answer, was grave. "No, dear, I shall never ask you that again."
She took his arm once more with evident relief. "Let us go up to the house," she said. "I expect Max is there already, waiting for us."
So they went up the weed-grown drive, and presently came into full sight of the house. It was a large, rambling building of stone, some of it very ancient, most of it covered with immense stacks of ivy. Another pair of iron gates divided park from garden, and as they approached these a lounging figure sauntered into view and came through to meet them.
Chris uttered a squeak of delight, and sprang forward. "Max!"
"Hullo!" said the new-comer.
He was a thick-set youth, with heavy red brows and a somewhat offhand demeanour. His eyes were green and very shrewd. They surveyed Mordaunt with open criticism. He was smoking a very foul-smelling cigarette.
Chris was very rosy. "Max," she said, "this is Trevor!"