She nodded. "Horribly. I'm very extravagant, too—at least, Aunt Philippa says so. I can't bear asking her for money. In fact, I—I—"
She hesitated, avoiding his eyes. "Shall I tell you something, Trevor?" she said in a whisper. "It's something I haven't told anyone else!"
"Of course tell me!" He took her two hands into his, holding them up against his heart.
"Well—it's a secret, you know—I—I—" She raised her face in sudden pleading. "Promise you won't be cross, Trevor."
"I promise, dear," he answered gravely.
"Well, I'm afraid it's rather bad of me. I haven't been paying for things lately. I simply couldn't. London is a dreadful place for spending money, isn't it? It's all quite little things, but they mount up shockingly. And—and—Aunt Philippa is bound to give me some money presently for my—my trousseau. So I thought—I thought—" She came nearer to him; she laid her cheek coaxingly against his breast. "Trevor, you said you wouldn't be cross."
He put his hand on her bright hair. "I am not cross, dear. I am only sorry."
Chris was inclined to be a little tearful. She did not quite know what had led her to tell him—it had been the impulse of a moment—but it was a vast relief to feel he knew.
"I'm not a very good manager, I'm afraid," she said. "But there are certain things one must have, and they do add up so. I believe it's the odd halfpennies and farthings that do it. Don't you ever find that?"
"I can quite imagine it," he said.