"Of course I know you. Who could help it? Your face is one of the best known in Europe. So you are the hero that Chris used to worship at Valpré! She mentioned the one fact to me, but not the other. She knows, I suppose?"
"Ah, yes, but it is a secret." Bertrand spoke wearily, as if reluctant to discuss the matter. "It is not my desire to be recognized. She knows that also."
"I never knew Chris could keep a secret before," commented Max.
A quick gleam shot up in the Frenchman's eyes. "Then you do not know her very well," he said.
Max smiled shrewdly, but did not contest the point. He seldom argued, and
Chris herself at this moment intervened.
"Bertie, I've saved the supper extras for you. Don't forget. Max, you know most of the people here. Do introduce him, or find Jack—he will. I'm dancing the first with Trevor. Good-bye!"
She flashed her smile upon him, and was gone. Bertrand stood and watched her as she went away through the throng with Trevor Mordaunt. Everyone watched her, and nearly everyone smiled. She was so naïvely, so sublimely happy.
Her gay young laugh rang out as they began to dance. "Isn't it fun?" she said; and then, with her eyes turned to his, "Trevor, I've such a crowd of things to thank you for that I don't know where to begin."
"Then, my dear child, don't begin!" he said, with his indulgent smile.
She frowned at him. "You are not to call me 'child' any longer. I'm grown-up."