"But, my dear girl," Mordaunt said, his quiet voice falling almost coldly upon their explanations, "what on earth made you come here of all places?"
"Oh," said Chris, leaping to this new point almost with relief, "it was raining, and thundering too. I hadn't an umbrella and I knew I should be drenched, and this was the nearest shelter I could think of, so I just came. It seemed the most sensible thing to do. I thought perhaps you would be pleased to see me. I even fancied you might give me tea."
There was a faint note of wistfulness in her voice though she was smiling. She stood before him with something of the air of a culprit.
"Of course Aunt Philippa wouldn't approve," she said. "I know that.
But—you always say you are not like Aunt Philippa, Trevor."
He took her hand very gently but with evident purpose into his own.
"I will give you tea with pleasure," he said, "but not here. Holmes shall call a taxi. I am afraid you must say good-bye to your friend now, unless—" he paused momentarily—"unless, Bertrand, you care to accompany us."
"Oh do, Bertie!" she said eagerly. "I want you. Please come!"
But Bertrand's refusal was instant and final.
"It is impossible," he declared. "I thank you a thousand times, but I have yet many letters to write, and the post will not wait."
"Letters?" said Chris curiously.