Chris uttered a squeak of delight, and sprang forward.  “Max!”

“Hullo!” said the new-comer.

He was a thick-set youth, with heavy red brows and a somewhat offhand demeanour.  His eyes were green and very shrewd.  They surveyed Mordaunt with open criticism.  He was smoking a very foul-smelling cigarette.

Chris was very rosy.  “Max,” she said, “this is Trevor!”

“Hullo!” said Max again.

He extended a careless hand and gave his future brother-in-law a hard grip.  There was no particular friendliness in the action, it was evidently his custom to grip hard.

“Come to investigate your new abode?” he said.  “Are you going to pull it down?”

“It is not my present intention,” Mordaunt said.

“Of course he isn’t!” said Chris.  “Don’t be absurd, Max.  It is going to be made lovely inside and out, and we are all going to live here.”

“Are we?” said Max, with a sudden grin.  “Who says so?”

He glanced at Mordaunt with the words, and it was Mordaunt who answered him—­

“I hope you and your brothers will continue to look upon it as your home until you have homes of your own.”

“Very rash of you!” commented Max, swinging round again to the gate.  “Well, come inside and see it.”

They went within, went from room to room of the old place, Max with the air of a sardonic showman, Mordaunt gravely attentive to details, Chris light-footed, eager with many ideas for its reformation.  The mildewed walls and partially dismantled rooms, with their moth-eaten furniture and threadbare carpets, had no damping effect upon her spirits.  She had a boundless faith in her fiance’s power to transform her ancient home into a palace of delight.

“If you really mean to buy it as it stands, I should recommend you to make a bonfire of the contents,” said Max presently, as they stood all together in the deep bay window of a room on the first floor that looked out upon the park, with a glimpse beyond of distant hills.  “But the place itself is an absolute ruin.  I can’t imagine how you are going to patch it up.”

“I think it can be done,” Mordaunt said.  He was staring out somewhat absently, and spoke as if his thoughts were wandering.

Both brother and sister glanced at him.  Then, “When are you going to get married?” asked Max.

Mordaunt came out of his reverie.  “That,” he said deliberately, “has still to be decided.”

“Who is going to decide?  You or Chris?” Max lighted another cigarette and pitched the match, still burning, from the window.

“Oh, Max!” exclaimed Chris.  “How dangerous!  Look!  There is Cinders sniffing along the terrace!  He is sure to burn his nose!”

She was gone with the words, and Max, with a brief laugh, returned to the charge.

“I conclude the decision rests with her.”

“Well?” said Mordaunt.  He spoke curtly; perhaps he resented the boy’s interference, or perhaps he had had enough of the subject for that day.