She did not look overwhelmed with work as she leaned back in her hammock-chair, but she evidently intended to be busy, for a basket and scissors stood beside her.
Bertrand was much too courteous to suggest that she was not making the most of her time. Or perhaps he did not want to be left in solitary contemplation of that fleeting August morning. He lay silent for a little, and presently requested permission to smoke a cigarette.
"Of course," she said at once. "Why don't you go and lie in the hammock?
I will come and rock you to sleep."
He thanked her, smiling, but declined.
She watched him light his cigarette with eyes grown thoughtful. Suddenly:
"Bertie," she said, "are you very unhappy nowadays?"
He made a jerky movement, and dropped the match, still burning. Hastily he bent to extinguish it, but Chris was before him, her hand upon his arm, restraining him.
"No, sit still! It's all right. Tell me, please, Bertie! I want to know."
He shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, still smiling, but in a fashion that she was at a loss to interpret.
"But what a question, petite! How can I answer it?"
"I should have thought—-between friends—-" she began.