He made a sharp gesture of protest, but remained silent.
She laid her hand on his arm. "Come and sit down, Bertie! And please answer me, because I want to know."
He went with her to the rustic seat against the tree-trunk. He was gripping his self-control with all his strength.
"Mr. Mordaunt must think what he will," he said at length, with an effort. "He can never judge me too severely."
"Why do you say that?" Chris asked the question quickly, nervously, as if she had to ask it, yet dreaded the answer.
"I think you know, Christine," he answered, his voice very low.
She shrank a little. "But that money, Bertie? You knew nothing of that?"
He was silent for a moment; then, "We will not speak of that," he said firmly. "I could not stay here in any case, so—it makes no difference."
"No difference that he should think you a thief!" exclaimed Chris.
He turned his eyes downwards, staring heavily at the ground between his feet. "I ask myself," he said, "if I am any better than a thief."