ENGAGED
"My dear Trevor, do let me warn you against making yourself in any way
responsible for Chris's brothers."
Mrs. Forest spoke impressively. She was rather fond of warning people. It
was in a fashion her attitude towards life.
"You will find," she continued, "that Chris herself will need a firm
hand--a very firm hand. Though so young, she is not, I fear, very
pliable. I have known her do the most unheard-of things, chiefly, I must
admit, from excess of spirits. They all suffer from that upon occasion.
It is a most difficult thing to cope with."
"But not a very serious failing," said Mordaunt, with his tolerant smile.
"It leads to very serious complications sometimes," said Mrs. Forest, in
the tone of one who could reveal much were she so minded.
But Mordaunt did not seem to hear. His eyes had wandered to a light
figure in the doorway--a girl with wonderful hair that shimmered like
burnished copper, and eyes that were blue as a summer sea. It was a
Sunday afternoon, and several people had dropped in to tea. The
engagement had been announced the previous day, and Mordaunt had dropped
in also to give his young _fiancée_ the benefit of his support. Chris,
however, was not, to judge by appearances, needing any support. She
seemed, in fact, to be frankly enjoying herself. The high spirits which
her aunt deplored were very much in evidence at that moment. Her gay
laugh reached him where he sat. Being engaged was evidently the greatest
fun.
"They are all like that," continued Mrs. Forest, with her air of one
fulfilling an unpleasant duty--"all except Max, who is frankly
objectionable. Gay, _débonnaire_, fascinating, I grant you, but so
deplorably unstable. Those boys--well, I have never dared to encourage
them here, for I know too well what it would mean. If you are really
thinking of buying their old home for yourself and Chris, do be on your
guard or you will never keep them at arms' length."
"Kellerton Old Park will be Chris's property exclusively," Mordaunt
replied gravely. "If she cares to have her brothers there, she will be
quite at liberty to do so."
"My dear Trevor, you are far too kind," protested Mrs. Forest. "I see you
are going to spoil them right and left. They will simply live on you if
you do that. You won't find yourself master in your own house."
"No?" said Mordaunt, with a smile.
Chris was coming towards him. He rose to meet her.
"Oh, Trevor," she said eagerly, "I can go down to Kellerton with you
to-morrow, and Max has written to say he will join us there. I am so glad
he can get away. I haven't seen him since Christmas."
"Isn't he coming to your birthday party?" asked Jack Forest, strolling up
at that moment.
He addressed Chris, but he looked at his mother, who, after the briefest
pause, made reply, "Of course Chris can ask whom she likes."
"Oh, can I?" exclaimed Chris. "How heavenly! Then I will get Rupert to
come too. I wish Noel might, but I suppose he is out of the question."
She slipped a hand surreptitiously inside Jack's arm as her aunt moved
away, and squeezed it. She knew quite well that the party itself had been
of his devising--an informal dance to celebrate her twenty-first
birthday, which was less than a fortnight away.
Jack smiled upon her indulgently. "Are you going to ask me to your
birthday party, Chris?"
"No," said Chris. "I shall never ask you anywhere. You have a free pass
always so far as I am concerned."
He made her a low bow. "You listening, Trevor? I'll bet she never said
that to you."
But Chris turned swiftly away towards her _fiancé_. "There is no need to
say anything of that sort to Trevor," she said, in her quick way. "He
understands without."
"Thank you," said Trevor quietly.
Jack laughed. "One to you, my boy! I admit it frankly. By the way, I
heard a funny story about you yesterday. Someone said you were turning
your rooms in Clive Street into a home for sick organ-grinders. Is it
true by any chance?"
"Not strictly," said Mordaunt.
"Nor strictly untrue either," commented Jack. "I know the sort of thing.
You are always doing it. Was it a child or a woman or a monkey this
time?"
"It was a man," said Mordaunt.
"A man! A friend of yours, I suppose?" Jack smiled over the phrase. He
had heard it on Mordaunt's lips more than once.
"Exactly. A friend of mine." The tone of Mordaunt's reply did not
encourage further inquiries.
Chris, glancing at him, saw a slight frown between his brows, and
promptly changed the subject.
"It's really rather good of Aunt Philippa to let me have the boys here,"
she said later, when they were alone together for a moment just before he
took his departure. "She never gets on with them, especially Max. Of
course it's partly his fault. I hope you will like each other, Trevor."
By which sentence Trevor divined that this was her favourite brother.
"We shall get on all right," he said.
"It isn't everyone that likes Max," she said. "But he's tremendously nice
really, and very clever. What time will you be here to-morrow? I must try
not to keep you waiting."
But of course when the morning came she did keep him waiting. With the
best intentions, Chris seldom managed to be ready for anything. And
Mordaunt had nearly half an hour to wait before she joined him.
She raced down at last with airy apology. "I'm very sorry really. But it
was Cinders' fault. We went to be photographed, and I couldn't get him to
sit at the right angle. And then when I got back I had to dress, and
everything went wrong."
She was carrying Cinders under her arm and evidently meant him to join
their expedition. She did not look as if everything had gone wrong with
her, neither did she look particularly penitent. She laughed up at him
merrily, and he--because he could not help it--drew her to him and kissed
her.
"Oh, but you should kiss Cinders too," she said. "I love kissing Cinders.
He is like satin."
"If we don't start we shall never get there," observed Mordaunt.
"What an obvious remark!" laughed Chris. "Let's start at once. I hope you
are going to scorch. Wouldn't it be funny if the motor broke down and we
had to spend the night under a hedge? We should enjoy that, shouldn't we,
Cinders? We would pretend we were gipsies or organ-grinders. Oh, Trevor,
it is a sweet motor! Do let me drive!"
"While I sit behind with Cinders?" he said. "Thanks very much, but I'd
rather not. Do you think we want Cinders, by the way?"
She opened her eyes wide in astonishment. Her motor-bonnet gave her a
very babyish appearance. She hugged her favourite to her as she might
have hugged a doll.
"Of course we want Cinders! Why, he has been looking forward to it for
ever so long. Kellerton is home to him, you know."
"Oh, very well! Jump in," said Mordaunt, with resignation. "Are you going
to sit beside me?"
"Of course we are. We can see better in front. Oh, Trevor, I am horrid. I
quite forgot to thank you for that lovely, lovely ring. I'm wearing it
round my neck, because I had to wash Cinders this morning, and I was
afraid of hurting it. I've never worn a ring before. And it was so dear
of you to remember that I liked turquoise and pearl. I was furious with
Aunt Philippa because--" She broke off abruptly.
Mordaunt was starting the motor, but as they skimmed smoothly away he
spoke. "Aunt Philippa thought it ought to have been diamonds, I suppose?"
"Well, yes," Chris admitted, turning very red. "But I--I didn't agree
with her. Diamonds are not to be compared with pearls."
"You are not old enough for diamonds, dear," he said. "I will give you
diamonds later."
"Oh, but I don't want any." Shyly her hand pressed his knee. "Please
don't give me too much, Trevor," she said. "I shall never dare to ask for
the things I really want if you do. Aunt Philippa thinks I'm getting
horribly spoilt as it is."
"I don't," he said.
"How nice of you, Trevor! Do you know I'm so happy to-day, I want to
sing."
"You may sing to your heart's content when we get out into the country,"
he said.
She laughed. "No, no! Cinders would howl. How cleverly you drive! You
will teach me some day, won't you? Do you know, I dreamt I was driving
your organ-grinder last night. Do tell me about him. Is he really a
friend of yours?"
"Yes, really, Chris."
"How exciting!" said Chris, keenly interested. "And what are you going to
do with him?"
"I haven't decided at present. He has had a pretty bad spell of
starvation. I don't know yet what he is fit for."
"It must be dreadful to starve," said Chris soberly. "It's bad enough not
to have any pocket-money. But to starve--Is he ill, then?"
"He has been. He is getting better."
"And you are taking care of him?"
"Yes, I'm housing him for the present."
"Trevor, it was good of you not to send him to the workhouse."
Mordaunt frowned. "It was not a case for the workhouse. He would probably
have died before he came to that."
"Oh, how dreadful!" A shadow crossed her vivid face. "But--he won't die
now, you think?"
"Not now, no!"
"And you won't let him go organ-grinding any more?"
"No."
"That's all right; though I don't think it would be at all bad on fine
days in the country, if one had a nice little donkey to pull the organ."
"Nice little donkeys have to be fed," Mordaunt reminded her.
"Oh yes. But they eat grass and thistles and things. And they never die.
Isn't that extraordinary? One would think the world would get overrun
with them, wouldn't one?"
"So it is, more or less," observed Mordaunt.
"Trevor! What a disgusting insinuation!" The merry laugh pealed out.
"I've a good mind to turn round and go straight back."
"If you think you could," he said.
"Of course I could!" Chris leaned forward and laid a daring hand on the
wheel.
"Yes," he said. "But that won't do it, you know."
"But if I were in earnest?" she said, a quick note of pleading in her
voice. "If I really wanted you to turn round?"
He kept his eyes fixed ahead. "Are you ever really in earnest, Chris?" he
said.
"Of course I am!"
Mordaunt was silent. They were crossing a crowded thoroughfare, and his
driving seemed to occupy his full attention.
Chris waited till he had extricated the car from the stream of traffic,
then impulsively she spoke--
"Trevor, I didn't think you were like Aunt Philippa. I thought you
understood."
She saw his grave face soften. "Believe me, I am not in the least like
your Aunt Philippa," he said.
"No; but--"
"But, Chris?"
"I think you needn't have asked me that," she said, a little quiver in
her voice. "Even Cinders knows me better than that."
"Cinders ought to know you better than anyone," remarked Mordaunt. "His
opportunities are unlimited."
She laughed somewhat dubiously. "I knew you would think me horrid as soon
as you began to see more of me."
He laughed also at that. "My dear, forgive me for saying so, but you are
absurd--too absurd to be taken seriously, even if you are serious--which
I doubt."
"But I am," she asserted. "I am. I--I am nearly always serious."
Mordaunt turned his head and looked at her with that in his eyes which
she alone ever saw there, before which instinctively, almost fearfully,
she veiled her own.
"You--child!" he said again softly.
And this time--perhaps because the words offered a way of escape of which
she was not sorry to avail herself--Chris did not seek to contradict him.
She pressed her cheek to Cinders' alert head, and said no more.