Had Mordaunt laughed at him, he would probably have attempted to carry out his threat then and there, for his mood was tempestuous. But the quiet eyes that met his blazing ones held no derision. They went beyond him instantly, seeking the girlish figure that leaned against the sofa-head for support; but a hand grasped his shoulder at the same moment and turned him back into the room.
"I shan't quarrel with you on that account," Mordaunt said. "You can stay if you like, and satisfy yourself."
Jack entered behind him, and went straight to Chris. He took her quivering hands into his, and held them fast.
"That boy deserves to be horsewhipped for startling you like this," he said.
She smiled at him wanly, but not as if she heard his words. "You will stay with me, Jack?" she said beseechingly.
"If you wish it, dear. But Trevor wants to say something rather private.
Really, you have nothing to be afraid of."
His kindly eyes looked down reassuringly into hers. They seemed to reason with her, to persuade and soothe at the same time.
But Chris's hands clung to his. "Don't—don't go!" she said. "I want you—I want you, Jack."
"Suppose we sit down," said Jack practically. "Trevor, I wish you'd kick that boy downstairs. It would do him good and me too. This isn't a family conclave."
"Noel can stay," Mordaunt answered quietly. He was still looking towards his wife, but he did not seem to be regarding her very intently. "You are mistaken in thinking that I have anything to say to Chris in private. I have only come to tell her what I have already told you, that Bertrand is at Valpré, ill and wanting her. I will take her to him—if she will come."