“What danger?”

A difficult question, which Aunt Philippa answered with diplomacy.  “Chris was always something of a flirt.”

“Indeed!” said Mordaunt again.

His manner was so non-committal that Aunt Philippa began to lose her patience.  “I should have thought that fact was patent to everyone.”

“Never to me,” said Chris’s husband very deliberately.

Aunt Philippa smiled.  “Then you are remarkably blind, my dear Trevor.  Flightiness has been her chief characteristic all her life.  If you have not yet found that out, I fear she must be deceitful as well.”

“I am not discussing my wife’s character,” Mordaunt made answer very steadily.

“You prefer to shut your eyes to the obvious,” said Aunt Philippa, beginning to be aware of something formidable in her path but not quite grasping its magnitude.

“I prefer my own estimate of her to that of anyone else,” he made quiet reply.

Aunt Philippa made a slight gesture of uneasiness.  The steady gaze was becoming a hard thing to meet.  Had the man been less phlegmatic, she could almost have imagined him to be in a white heat of anger.  He was so unnaturally quiet, his whole being concentrated, as it were, in a composure that she could not but feel to be ominous.

It was with an effort that the woman who sat facing him resumed her self-appointed task.  “That I can well understand,” she said.  “But even so, I think you should bear in mind that Chris is young—­and frail.  You are not justified in exposing her to temptation.”

“As how?”

Aunt Philippa hesitated for the first time in actual perturbation.

Mordaunt waited immovably.

“I think,” she said at length, “that you would be very ill-advised if you went to town and left her here—­thrown entirely upon her own resources.”

“May I ask if you are still referring to my secretary?” he said.

She bent her head.  “I have never approved of her being upon such intimate terms with him.  She treats him as if—­as if—­”

“As if he were her brother,” said Mordaunt quietly.  “I do the same.  I have many friends, but he is the one man in the world who possesses my entire confidence.  For that reason I foster their friendship, for I know it to be a good thing.  For that reason, if I were dying, I would confidently leave her in his care.”

“My dear Trevor, the man has bewitched you!” protested Aunt Philippa.

His eyes fell away from her at last, and she was conscious of distinct relief, mingled with a most unwonted tinge of humiliation.

“I am obliged to you,” he said formally, “for taking the trouble to warn me.  But you need never do so again.  Believe me, I am not blind; and Chris is safe in my care.”

He rose with the words, and went to the sideboard for his breakfast.  Here he remained for some time with his back turned, but when he finally came back to the table there was no trace of even suppressed agitation about him.