"No, chérie, by Heaven, no!" he said, with vehemence.
"Then you'll stay, Bertie? You will stay?" Very earnestly she besought him. Her tears were dropping on his hands. "Say you will!"
For a moment longer he hesitated; he tried to resist her, he tried to take a sane and temperate view. But those tears were too much for him. They were the one torture he could not endure. With a sharp gesture he flung his hesitation from him. Yet even then he left himself a way of escape lest the temptation should be more than he could bear.
"I will stay," he made grave reply, "as long as it would make you happy to have me with you—that is"—he checked himself—"if Mr. Mordaunt desire it also."
"But of course he does," said Chris. "He likes you. And I—I can't do without you, Bertie—not now."
He heard the desolate note in her voice, and he did not contradict her.
Had he not sworn that while she needed him he would be at hand?
"Eh bien," he said soothingly. "I stay."
That comforted her somewhat, and presently, at his persuasion, she sat up and dried her eyes. It was too dark for them to see each other, but she held his hand very tightly; and there was comfort also in that.
"Now you will come away from here," he said. "Mr. Mordaunt is very troubled about you. He would not come to you himself because he thought that you did not desire him. But that was not true, no?"
Again that hard shudder went through Chris. She was silent for a little, them "Oh, Bertie," she whispered, "I wish—I wish—it hadn't been he who—who—" she broke off—"you know what I mean. You—saw!"