“Oh, do you?” she said with a gasp.

“Yes, I do.  A treacherous scoundrel like that is worse than a murderer in my opinion.  So is anyone who is fundamentally untrustworthy.”

“Oh, but—­but—­Trevor—­,” she said, and suddenly there was a note of pleading in her halting words, “that includes the weak people with the wicked.  Don’t you think—­that is rather hard?”

“Quite possibly.”  He made the admission in a tone she did not understand, and relapsed into silence.

She felt as if the subject were closed, and did not venture to pursue it.

But after a moment he surprised her by a quiet question:  “Why don’t you try to convince me that I am wrong?”

She looked up at him quickly, as if compelled.  His eyes were waiting for hers, met them, held them.

“I am not suggesting that you should defend Rodolphe,” he said.  “You were not thinking of him.  He is not one of the weak.”

“I was thinking of myself,” she said.  “And—­and—­and—­” She wavered and stopped.

“Rupert?” he suggested.

She caught her breath.  “What made you think of him?”

“You were thinking of him, were you not?”

She made a gesture of helplessness.  “Yes.”

“I see,” he said.  “But you needn’t be anxious about Rupert.  He came to me long ago and told me the truth.”

She opened her eyes wide.  “What made him do that?”

“He heard that Bertrand was bearing the blame for his misdeeds, and he had the decency to be ashamed of himself.”

“Oh!” said Chris. She was silent for a moment, still meeting his steady gaze.  Suddenly her mouth quivered and she turned from them.  “Trevor, I—­I am ashamed too.”

“Hush!” he said.

The word was brief, it sounded stern; but in the same instant his hand found hers and held it very tightly.

She mastered herself with a great effort in response to his insistence.  “Were you very angry with him?” she whispered.

“No.”

“You didn’t—­punish him in any way?”

“No.  I told him to forget it and said I should do the same.  As a matter of fact, I had forgotten it until this moment.”  Mordaunt’s tone was unemotional; he released her hand as he was speaking, and again she was conscious of that small sense of chill.

“You forgave him, then?” she said.

“Yes, I did.”  He paused a moment; then:  “By and bye,” he said, “Rupert will take on the management of the Kellerton estate, and I think he will probably be a great help to me.”

Chris’s eyes shot upwards in amazement.  “Trevor!  Not really?”

He smiled a little.  “Yes, really.  It is the sort of life that suits him best; and he will be pretty busy, so it ought to keep him out of mischief.”

“Oh, but, Trevor—­” she said, and stopped short.

“Well?” he said gently.

“I didn’t think you would do that,” she murmured in confusion.  “I didn’t think you would ever trust any of us again.”