She reached up and found the hand, drew it down over her face, and held it so for seconds, speaking no word. She touched it softly with her lips at last, and let it go.
"I'm well now," she said. "Take me back."
He looked at her searchingly. "You are sure?"
She smiled at him, though her eyes were still heavy. "Yes, I'll be quite good. I mustn't spoil Hilda's wedding by being silly, must I? You haven't brought Bertie, I suppose?"
He smiled a little. "He didn't get an invitation."
"Of course not. Trevor, you didn't think I was—flirting with him that night?"
"My dear child—no!"
"Because I never flirt," said Chris very earnestly. "It's a horrid thing to do. You'll never think that of me, will you? Or that I have ever trifled with you—or anyone?"
Trevor's eyes rested upon her with grave kindness. "My dear, why should I think these things of you?" he said.
She shook her head. "I don't know. Lots of people do. But you are different. I think you understand. You'll stay after it's over and have a talk, won't you?"