"My dear child, I don't want your farthings," responded Rupert cheerily. "If you can make it fifty pounds now, I shall be quite grateful. But I'll get you yours first, never mind how. Now, hadn't we better go back to the rest? Aunt Philippa will be wondering what we are conspiring about. By the way, when does she depart?"
He grinned. "Had enough of her, eh? So, I should imagine, has Trevor. He is keener on giving advice than taking it, if I know anything about him."
"She wouldn't dare to give Trevor advice," protested Chris.
"Ho! wouldn't she?" He laughed derisively, as they turned to leave the little room in the roof that was her refuge, but paused at the door to slip his arm through hers. "You're not to worry, young 'un," he said, with a patronage that did not veil concern. "Do you know you're looking downright ill?"
She smiled up at him wistfully. "Things have been pretty horrid lately. But I won't worry any more if--if you tell me I needn't."
"You needn't," he said, and impulsively he stooped and kissed her. He had always had a protecting tenderness for his little sister.
They descended to the drawing-room to find Aunt Philippa writing letters in solitary state. The rest of the company, with the exception of Mordaunt, who was at work in his own room, were in the billiard-room just beyond, and Chris and Rupert repaired thither, relieved to make their escape so easily.
They found Bertrand, who was an expert player, making a long break. He was playing against Max, whose opinion of him was obviously rising with this display of skill.
He was engaged upon a most difficult stroke when Chris entered, and she stopped behind him lest she should disturb his aim. But he turned round at once to her, leaving the balls untouched.
"_Mais non_!" he declared lightly. "I cannot play with my back to my hostess. It is an affair _très difficile_, and I must have everything in my favour."
"Oh, don't let me spoil your luck!" she said.
She came and stood at the end of the table to watch him.
"That would not be possible," he protested, as he applied himself again to the ball.
He achieved the stroke with that finish and dexterity that marked all he did.
"Oh, I say!" said Noel disgustedly. "You haven't a look-in, Max. He plays like a machine."