"I think so," she said. "Why?"
"Because he has taken one of my guns, and I believe he is potting rabbits."
Chris sat up with consternation in her eyes. "Trevor! I believe he is too! I heard someone shooting half an hour ago. And he has got Cinders with him! I know he will go and shoot him by mistake!"
"Or himself," said Mordaunt grimly.
"Oh, he won't do that," said Chris with confidence. "Nothing ever happens to Noel."
"Something will happen to him before long if he doesn't behave himself," observed Mordaunt. "My patience began to wear thin last night when I caught him asleep with a smouldering pipe on his pillow."
"Oh, but he always does what he likes in the holidays," pleaded Chris.
"Does he?" Mordaunt's voice was uncompromising.
She slipped a quick hand into his. "Trevor, you wouldn't spoil his fun?"
He looked down at her, faintly smiling. "My dear Chris, it depends upon the fun. I'm not going to have the place burnt down for his amusement."