"I cannot tell you," he returned, quite courteously but with the utmost firmness.
She glanced at him again speculatively, then, with shrewdness: "When men fight duels," she said, "it's generally over either politics or—a woman. Was it—politics, Bertie?"
He stopped. "It was not politics, Christine," he said.
"Then—" She paused, expectant.
His face contracted slightly. "Yes, it was—a woman. But I say nothing more than that. We will speak of it—never again."
But this was very far from satisfying Chris. "Tell me at least about the woman," she urged. "Is it—is it the girl you are going to marry?"
But he stood silent, looking at her again with that expression in his eyes that had puzzled her before.
"Is it, Bertie?" she insisted.
"And if I tell you Yes?" he said at last.
She made a queer little gesture, the merest butterfly movement, and yet it had in it the faintest suggestion of hurt surprise.