simulated gaiety for the deliberate purpose of deceiving him.  He knew, too, that her sleep was often broken and troubled, but he never commented upon this; she was so plainly averse to any criticism from him or anyone.  A shrewd suspicion had begun to take root in Mordaunt’s mind to account for this unwonted reticence; and because of it he treated her with the utmost patience and consideration, asking no question, giving no sign that he so much as noticed the change in her.  He invariably turned from any subject she seemed to find distasteful.  If she seemed unusually nervous or unreasonable, he passed it over, bearing with her with a tenderness that sometimes moved her in secret to passionate tears the while she asked herself what she had ever done that he should love her so.

For if she had ever doubted the quality of his love, she could not do so now.  It surrounded her whichever way she turned, asking nothing of her, never intruding upon her, content simply to shelter her.  And though the very fact of it hurt her, it comforted her subtly as well, lulling her fear of him, giving her a certain measure of confidence.

Of Bertrand, in those days, she saw less and less.  In the first shock of realization she had instinctively avoided him, possessed by a haunting dread that he might guess her secret.  But upon this point she was very soon reassured.  The consistent and unwavering friendliness of his attitude quieted her misgivings, and nerved her to treat him, if with less intimacy, at least without visible awkwardness.  Whether he noticed her avoidance or not she did not know, but he certainly seemed to be withdrawing himself more and more out of her life.  His work with her husband apparently occupied all his thoughts, and then there was Aunt Philippa also to keep him at a distance.  How it would be when her aunt departed Chris had no notion, but she was looking forward to that event with an eagerness almost feverish.  All her natural sweetness notwithstanding, there were occasions upon which she actively disliked this domineering relative of hers.  Aunt Philippa, on her part, who had never taken so much trouble with her niece before, openly marvelled at her intractability, which even the fact that Chris was one of those headstrong Wyndhams did not, in her opinion, wholly justify.  No open rupture had occurred, but a very decided animosity had begun to smoulder between them, which a very little provocation might at any moment fan into open hostility.

Chris was leaning against a pillar of the porch when her brother returned.  There was very decided dejection in her attitude.

“Cheer up!” Noel exhorted her, as he sprang from the car.  “I’ve got a ripping plan.”

He came and twined his arm in hers, and Chris smiled with a hint of wistfulness.  She felt as if she had left Noel and his boyish pleasures very far behind of late.

“What do you want to do?” she said.

“Come into the gun-room and I’ll tell you.”  Noel was all eagerness.  “Coast clear?” he questioned.  “Where’s Aunt Phil?”