Mordaunt rested his chin on his hand, and looked at her thoughtfully.
"Indeed!" he said.
Neither his voice nor his face expressed anything whatever beyond a decorous gravity. Aunt Philippa began to feel slightly exasperated.
"She will get over that," she said, with a confidence that held more of contempt than tolerance. "None of the Wyndhams are fundamentally capable of taking anything seriously for long. You must have discovered their instability for yourself by this time."
"Not with respect to Chris." Was there a hint of sternness underlying the placidity of the rejoinder? There might have been, but Aunt Philippa was too intent upon the matter she had taken in hand to notice it.
"Oh, well," she said, "you haven't been married six weeks yet, have you? You will see what I mean sooner or later. But you may take it from me that all of them—Chris included—are without an atom of solidity in their composition. I warn you, Trevor, very seriously; they are not to be depended upon."
Mordaunt heard her without changing his position. His eyes looked straight at her from under lids that never stirred. "Is that what you have to say to me?" he asked, after a moment.
"It leads to what I have to say," returned Aunt Philippa with dignity.
She was quite in her element now, and enjoying herself far too thoroughly to be lightly disconcerted.
"Pray finish!" he said.
That gave her momentary pause. "I am speaking solely for your welfare," she told him.