He followed her to her end of the table to pour her out a glass of wine.
"Please don't!" she said nervously. "I don't like it. I can't drink it."
"I think you can," he answered. "Try!"
He went to his own place, and proceeded to engage Aunt Philippa in conversation. But Aunt Philippa was looking even more severe than usual, and responded so indifferently to his efforts that he presently suffered them to flag. There fell a dead silence. Then Noel struck in with furious zest, and Mordaunt turned to him with relief. But Chris scarcely opened her lips.
At the end of the meal he addressed her with quiet authority. "Chris, you must rest this afternoon. Your aunt will excuse you."
"Certainly," said Aunt Philippa stiffly.
Chris rose from the table in unbroken silence. She came slowly down the long room. Mordaunt got up to open the door, and followed her out.
"Don't worry about me, please!" Chris besought him as he closed the door behind them. "I shall be all right to-morrow."
He ignored the protest, and accompanied her upstairs. She glanced at him uneasily as they went. "I can't help being—unhappy just for to-day," she murmured. "You—you couldn't expect me—not to care?"
He did not speak till they reached her room. Then: "You saw Bertrand," he said, in a tone that was hardly a question.