All this was poured out while her hand lay in his, her gay young face uplifted, half-merry, half-confiding.
Yes, Mordaunt had breakfasted. He told her so with a faint smile. "And please don't apologize for being late," he added. "It is I who am early. I came early on purpose. I wanted to see you alone."
"Oh?" said Chris.
She looked at him interrogatively and then quite suddenly she knew what he had come to say, and turned white to the lips. For the first time she was afraid of him.
"Oh, please," she gasped rather incoherently, "please—"
"Shall we sit down?" he said gently. "I am not going to do or say anything that need frighten you. If you were a little older you would realize that I am at your mercy, not you at mine."
She looked at him wide-eyed, imploring. "Please, Mr. Mordaunt, can't we—can't we wait a little? I am afraid, I am so afraid of—of making a mistake."
The faint smile was still upon his face, though it did not reach his eyes. He laid a reassuring hand upon her shoulder.
"My dear little Chris," he said, "I won't let you do that."
That comforted her a little, though she still looked doubtful. She suffered him to lead her to a sofa and sit beside her, but she avoided his eyes. The crisis had come upon her so suddenly, she knew not how to deal with it.