Yet in a moment, even as, erect and disdainful, she passed him by, he was smiling again, a secret, subtle smile which she felt rather than saw. Emerging into the hot sunshine that beat upon the crowded lawn, she knew herself to be cold from head to foot.
CHAPTER VIII
THE THIN END
"Good-bye!" said Mrs. Pouncefort. "So glad you came. I hope you haven't been bored."
"Bored to extinction," murmured Noel. "Hi, Trevor! Let me drive, like a good chap. Do!"
"Certainly not," said Mordaunt, with decision. "You are going to sit behind. We shall meet the wind now, and Chris must come in front; it is more sheltered."
Chris submitted to this arrangement in silence. She was looking very tired. Her husband regarded her keenly as he tucked her in, but he said nothing.
"What do you think of Mrs. Pouncefort's latest?" grinned Noel, as they spun along the high-road. "I never met such a facetious brute in my life. How did you like him, Bertrand?"
"Who?" said Bertrand somewhat curtly.
"What did they call him—Rodolphe, wasn't it? That French chap with the beastly little beard."