"Oh no," she said. "But you won't be strict with him, will you? He will only do things on the sly if you are."
Mordaunt frowned abruptly. "If I catch him doing anything underhand—"
She broke in sharply in evident distress. "But we all do, Trevor! I—I've done it myself before now—often with Mademoiselle Gautier, and then with Aunt Philippa. One has to, you know. At least—at least—" His grey eyes suddenly made her feel cold, and she stopped as impulsively as she had begun.
There was a moment's silence, then quite gently he drew his hand away. "I think I will go and see what mischief the boy is up to."
She jumped up. "I'll come too."
He paused, and for a single instant his eyes met Bertrand's. At once the
Frenchman spoke.
"But, Christine, have you not forgotten your roses? It is growing late, is it not? And you will be out this afternoon. Permit me to assist you with them."
He picked up the basket as he spoke. Chris stopped irresolute. Her husband was already moving away over the grass.
"Come!" said Bertrand persuasively.
Chris turned with a smile and took the basket. "All right, Bertie, let's go. It is getting late, as you say, and I must get the vases filled."