Jack entered behind him, and went straight to Chris. He took her quivering hands into his, and held them fast.

“That boy deserves to be horsewhipped for startling you like this,” he said.

She smiled at him wanly, but not as if she heard his words.  “You will stay with me, Jack?” she said beseechingly.

“If you wish it, dear.  But Trevor wants to say something rather private.  Really, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

His kindly eyes looked down reassuringly into hers.  They seemed to reason with her, to persuade and soothe at the same time.

But Chris’s hands clung to his.  “Don’t—­don’t go!” she said.  “I want you—­I want you, Jack.”

“Suppose we sit down,” said Jack practically.  “Trevor, I wish you’d kick that boy downstairs.  It would do him good and me too.  This isn’t a family conclave.”

“Noel can stay,” Mordaunt answered quietly.  He was still looking towards his wife, but he did not seem to be regarding her very intently.  “You are mistaken in thinking that I have anything to say to Chris in private.  I have only come to tell her what I have already told you, that Bertrand is at Valpre, ill and wanting her.  I will take her to him—­if she will come.”

“Trevor!” She turned to him with eyes of sudden horror—­horror so definite that it swamped all her personal shrinking.  “How is he ill?  You—­you have hurt him!”

“I have done nothing to him,” Mordaunt answered.  “He is suffering from heart-disease, and cannot be moved.  I must start from Charing Cross in an hour.  Will you come with me?”

“To go to him?” Her eyes were still dilated, but they did not waver from his.

“To go to him.”  He repeated the words with precision, and waited for her answer.

But Chris sat in silence, her hands in Jack’s.

“Look here,” Noel broke in abruptly, “if Chris goes, I go.”

“Very well,” Mordaunt said.  “If Chris desires it, you may.”

Chris came out of her silence with a little shudder, and turned to the man beside her.  “Jack, tell me what to do!”

“I think you had better go, dear,” Jack said.

“But if—­but if—­oh, is he very ill?” She looked again at her husband.

“He is very ill indeed,” Mordaunt said.

“You think I ought to go?” She asked the question with an obvious effort.

“I have come to fetch you,” he said.

“Then—­he is dying!” she said, with sudden conviction.

Mordaunt was silent.

Abruptly she left Jack and went up to him.  “Trevor,” she said, “would you want to take me to him if—­if—­”

“If—?” he repeated quietly.

“If you thought I was doing wrong to go?”

He made a slight movement, as if the question were unexpected.  “I should have explained to you,” he said, “that your brother Max is in charge of him, so that when I am not with you—­and, as you know, I am attending the Rodolphe trial—­you will not be alone.”