"My dear little girl," said Chris, and his young face, very near hers, was so handsome, and true, and tender, that she looked away from it, while a dreadful ache came into her heart, "I am doing for you what I would not for my mother, God bless her, and all we've got to think about now, is to be happy—" He alone knew at what immense cost to himself he had gained at last the victory, took it for granted that Gay would appreciate, and reward it accordingly.
"It's too late," she said miserably. "I am bound twice over to Carlton—once by a debt of honour—once by my word—"
"You are nothing of the sort," said Chris, who was far from realising the situation. "Mackrell played up well certainly about the Vase, but his motives were interested, and he'd be a rotter if he regarded you as being in his debt. I don't wish the poor chap any harm, but I'm afraid he'll have to put up with Lossie, unless she changes her mind."
"He—he is with Lossie just now," said Gay nervously, "but he may be here at any moment—"
"Not if he accepts her," said Chris, chuckling, "for I imagine there's something in the wind."
"Wouldn't you like to run down and see the Professor?" she cried eagerly. "He's always so delighted to see you!"
"I'm quite happy where I am," said Chris, smiling broadly. What a shy little thing she was, and what ridiculous ideas she got into her head; it was a relief to find she could be silly after all! "You are looking very pretty this morning," and he looked her over admiringly. Gay blushed—somehow she never did look nice without wishing for Chris to be there, and see how nice she looked.
"I hear St. Swithin's Court is charming," he said—"the place where we're going to live, you know—and the work Rensslaer's giving me will suit me down to the ground. Just fancy living in the midst of that paradise of horses! And he's giving me a thousand a year—rippin', ain't it?" and he kissed Gay again before she could stop him.
"Now, can't we be married early next month, go abroad for a bit, and be home in good time for the shooting? Morning, Mackrell!" as that gentleman came in, and Gay half rose, her heart beating wildly.... With a sick sense of despair, after one glance at his face, she knew that Lossie had failed.
"We were just talking about St. Swithin's, the little place that goes with the berth Rensslaer has given me," said Chris. "If the birds are all right, we'll be very pleased if you'll make one of the guns on the First—won't we, Gay?"