honourable, resolutely loyal, all through.  He had always held himself in check.  He had never forgotten, never relaxed his vigilance, never once been other than faithful, even in thought, to the friend who trusted him.  Yet—­Max’s words recurred to him, piercing him as with a stab of physical pain—­without doubt women had a genius incroyable for discovering secrets.  And if Chris were indeed a woman—­was it not possible—­

Again her laugh broke in upon his thoughts, and he turned swiftly in the direction whence it came.  She was standing not more than a dozen yards from him, a red whirl of fire all about her, in her hand a whizzing, spitting-aureole of flame.  The light flared upwards on her face and gleaming hair.  She looked like some fire-goddess, exulting over the radiant element she had created.  And, like a sword-thrust to his heart, there went through him the memory of her standing poised like a bird on the prow of a boat.  Just so had she stood then; just so, goddess-like, had she exulted in the morning sunshine and the sparkling water; just so had her bare arms shone on the day that first he had consciously worshipped her, on the day that she had told him of her desire to find out all the secrets that there were.  Ah! how much had she found out since then—­his bird of Paradise with the restless, ever-fluttering wings?  How much?  How much?

A sudden cry banished his speculations—­a cry uttered by her voice, sharp with dismay.  “Oh, Noel!  My sleeve!”

Before the words were past her lips Bertrand had leaped forth to the rescue.  He traversed the distance between them as a meteor hurling through space.  But even so, ere he reached her, the filmy lace that hung down from her elbow had blazed into flame.  She had dropped the firework, and it lay hissing on the ground like a glittering snake.  He sprang over it and caught her in his arms.

She cried out again as he crushed her to him, cried out, and tried to push him from her; but he held her fast, gripping the flaming material with his naked hands, rending it, and gripping afresh.  Something white which neither noticed fluttered upon the ground between them.  It must have actually passed through that frantic grip.  It lay unheeded, while Bertrand beat out the last spark and ripped the last charred rag away from the soft arm.

“You are hurt, no?” he queried rather breathlessly.

“You, Bertie!  What of you?” she cried hysterically, clinging to him.  “Your hands—­let me see them!”

“By Jove, that was a near thing!” ejaculated Noel, who had followed close upon Bertrand’s heels.  “I thought you were done for that time, Chris. How on earth did you manage it?  You must have been jolly careless.”

Chris did not attempt to answer.  Now that the emergency had passed, she was hanging upon Bertrand almost in a state of collapse.

“Let us go in,” the latter said gently.

“Yes, run along,” said Noel, who had a wholesome dread of hysterics.  “Don’t be silly, Chris; there’s no harm done.  But if it hadn’t been for this chap here you’d have been in flames in another second.  I congratulate you, Bertrand, on your presence of mind.  Not hurt yourself, I suppose?”