She started a little. "Who told you that?"
"Noel."
"Oh! Well, nothing happened, thanks to—to Bertie. He put it out for me."
"I think there had better not be any more fireworks unless I am there," Mordaunt said. "I don't like to think of my wife running risks of that sort."
"Very well, Trevor," she said meekly.
"Where did the fireworks come from?" he pursued.
"We made them—Noel and I. We used some of your cartridges for gunpowder. He got saltpetre and one or two other things from the chemist. They were quite a success," said Chris, with a touch of her old light gaiety.
"And you are paying for it to-day," he said. "It will be a good thing when Noel goes back to school."
"Oh no," she answered quickly. "It wasn't the fireworks. I often have wakeful nights."
It was the first time she had ever alluded to the fact. He wondered if she would summon the courage to tell him something further. He earnestly hoped she would; but he hoped in vain. Chris said no more.