“No,” she said.  “But what is he like—­when he is angry?”

Jack considered.  “He’s rather like a devil that’s been packed in ice for a very long time.  He doesn’t expand, he contracts.  He emits a species of condensed fury that has a disastrous effect upon the object thereof.  He is about the last man in the world that I should choose to quarrel with.”

“But why?” she said.  “Would you be afraid of him?”

Jack considered this point too quite gravely and impartially.  “I really don’t know, Chris,” he said at last.  “I believe I should be.”

“He can be terrible, then,” she said, as if stating a conclusion rather than asking a question.

“More or less,” Jack admitted.  “But he is never unreasonable.  I have never seen him angry without good cause.”

“And then—­I suppose he is merciless?”

“Quite,” said Jack.  “I saw him shoot a Kaffir once for knocking a wounded man on the head.  It was no more than the brute deserved.  I was lying wounded myself, and he took my revolver to do it with.  But it was a nasty jolt for the Kaffir.  He knew exactly what was going to happen to him and why, before it happened.  Afterwards, when Trevor came back to me, he was smiling, so I suppose it did him good.  He’s a very deliberate chap.  Some people call him cold-blooded.  He never acts on impulse.  And I’ve never known him make a mistake.”

“I see.”  Chris swallowed once or twice as if she felt an obstruction in her throat.  “I expect he would be like that with anyone,” she said.  “I mean if he had reason to be angry with anyone, he wouldn’t spare them—­whatever they were.  I always felt he was like that.”

“He’s one of the best chaps in the world,” said Jack warmly.

She assented, but not with the enthusiasm that had marked her earlier eulogy.  She seemed, in fact, to have become a little distrait, and Jack, remarking the fact, suggested a canter.

They met several people whom they knew before they turned homewards, and it was not until they were leaving the Park that any further conversation was possible.

Then very suddenly Chris reined in and spoke.  “Jack, before we go back, I want to ask you something.”

“Well?” said Jack.

She made a pathetic little gesture towards him, and touched his knee with her riding-switch.  Her blue eyes besought him very earnestly.  “Jack, we—­we are pals, aren’t we?  Or I couldn’t possibly ask it of you.  Jack, I—­I’ve been foolish—­and extravagant.  And—­” she became suddenly breathless—­“I want twenty pounds—­to pay some debts.  Jack, could you—­would you—­”

“You monkey!” said Jack.

“I couldn’t help it,” she declared piteously.  “I’ve spent a frightful lot of money lately.  I don’t know how it goes.  It runs away like water.  But I—­want to get out of debt, Jack.  If you will help me just this once, I’ll pay you back when—­when—­when I’m married.”