THE BIRTHDAY PARTY
"At last!" said Chris.
It was her birthday party, and she stood at the head of the stairs by her
aunt's side, receiving her guests.
Very young she looked, a child still, despite her twenty-one years, and
supremely happy. Her aunt, one of those ladies whose very smile is in
itself an act of condescension, was treating her with unusual
graciousness that night, and there was not a star awry in Chris's
firmament.
She had just caught a glimpse of her _fiancé_ in the crowd below her, and
a hasty second glance had shown her that he was not unaccompanied. A
slight man, olive-skinned, with a very small, black moustache and quick
eyes that searched upwards restlessly, was ascending the stairs with him.
In the instant that she looked those eyes found her, and flashed their
quick recognition.
Chris waved her fan in eager greeting. "Ah, there he is!" she cried
aloud.
"My dear child!" said Aunt Philippa.
Impetuously Chris turned to her. "He is a friend of mine, and Trevor's
secretary. I told Trevor to bring him. He is French, and his name is
Bertrand."
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement as she made this hasty
explanation. She had purposely left it till a crowded moment, for Aunt
Philippa was apt to be very searching in her inquiries, and Chris shrank
at all times from being catechized by this somewhat formidable relative
of hers.
"Trevor knows all about him; they are friends," she added, in response to
a slight drawing of the brows, with which she was tragically well
acquainted.
"All?" murmured Max in her ear from her other side, with a mischievous
twinkle in his green eyes.
Chris ignored him, but she turned a vivid crimson, and the hand she
stretched to Mordaunt was quivering with agitation. But in his quiet
grasp it became still. She looked up into his eyes and smiled a welcome
with recovered self-possession.
"Oh, Trevor, here you are! And you've brought Bertie as you promised."
She gave her other hand to Bertrand with the words, but she did not speak
to him--she went on talking to her _fiancé_. "I've had a tremendous day,
and thank you a million times for--you know what. It's a good thing you
booked your dances beforehand, for I haven't any left."
"Not one for me?" murmured Bertrand, as he bent over her hand.
She turned to him with a radiant smile. "Yes, yes, of course! Should I be
likely to forget all old pal like you? Trevor, will you introduce him to
Aunt Philippa?"
"My friend Mr. Bertrand," said Mordaunt promptly.
Mrs. Forest acknowledged the introduction with extreme chilliness. She
strongly disapproved of Chris's faculty for developing unexpected
friendships. The child was so regrettably free-and-easy in all her ways.
Of course, if Trevor Mordaunt approved of their intimacy, and apparently
he did, there was nothing to be said, but she herself could not regard it
with favour. Once more she congratulated herself that her
responsibilities where Chris was concerned were nearly at an end.
But if her greeting were cold, Bertrand scarcely had time to remark it,
for his attention was instantly diverted by the red-haired youth who
lounged behind her. Max, whose presence had been annoying his aunt all
day, thrust out a welcoming hand to the new-comer.
"Hullo!" he said. "You, is it?"
Bertrand raised his brows. He gave his hand, after an instant's
hesitation, with a non-committing, "Myself--yes."
Max drew him aside out of the crowd. "It's all right. I'm Chris's
brother, and I shan't give you away. But how long do you expect to remain
incog., I wonder? I knew your face the moment I saw you on the stairs."
"You know me?" said Bertrand, drawing back a little.
"Of course I know you. Who could help it? Your face is one of the best
known in Europe. So you are the hero that Chris used to worship at
Valpré! She mentioned the one fact to me, but not the other. She knows, I
suppose?"
"Ah, yes, but it is a secret." Bertrand spoke wearily, as if reluctant to
discuss the matter. "It is not my desire to be recognized. She knows that
also."
"I never knew Chris could keep a secret before," commented Max.
A quick gleam shot up in the Frenchman's eyes. "Then you do not know her
very well," he said.
Max smiled shrewdly, but did not contest the point. He seldom argued, and
Chris herself at this moment intervened.
"Bertie, I've saved the supper extras for you. Don't forget. Max, you
know most of the people here. Do introduce him, or find Jack--he will.
I'm dancing the first with Trevor. Good-bye!"
She flashed her smile upon him, and was gone. Bertrand stood and watched
her as she went away through the throng with Trevor Mordaunt. Everyone
watched her, and nearly everyone smiled. She was so naïvely, so sublimely
happy.
Her gay young laugh rang out as they began to dance. "Isn't it fun?" she
said; and then, with her eyes turned to his, "Trevor, I've such a crowd
of things to thank you for that I don't know where to begin."
"Then, my dear child, don't begin!" he said, with his indulgent smile.
She frowned at him. "You are not to call me 'child' any longer. I'm
grown-up."
His smile remained. "Since when?" he said.
"That's a rude question which I am not going to answer. But, Trevor,
you--you shouldn't have sent me all that money. It's much more than I
want."
"I'm glad to hear it," he said; and, after a moment, "I hope you will
spend it profitably."
"Oh, yes." Eagerly she made reply. "I've bought a new collar for
Cinders--such a beauty, with bells! I thought it would be so useful if he
went rabbiting."
"What! To warn the rabbits?"
"Oh, no! I never thought of that! Poor Cinders! It would spoil his sport,
wouldn't it? And he's such a sportsman. I suppose I shall have to keep it
for Sundays after all. What a pity! I thought it would help us to find
him if he got lost."
"But he always turns up again," said Mordaunt consolingly.
Her blue eyes flashed their sunshine. "Yes, yes, of course. And another
thing I did which ought to please you very much."
The indulgence turned to approval on Mordaunt's face. "I can guess what
that was," he said.
"Can you?" Chris looked delighted. "Well, you mustn't tell Aunt Philippa,
because she would call it shocking extravagance, and I really only did it
to please you."
"Oh! Then I am afraid I haven't guessed right." Mordaunt's expression
became one of grave doubt.
Chris laughed aloud. "You will have to guess again. No, please go on
dancing. One only gets hotter standing still."
"But, Chris," he said, "I want to know."
His tone was perfectly kind, as gentle as it always was when he addressed
her, and yet the quick glance that she threw him was not without a hint
of misgiving. The slender young body stiffened ever so slightly against
his arm.
"I wonder if Bertie has found a partner," she said. "Do you think we
ought to go and see?"
He guided her towards the entrance. A good many people were standing
about, and one after another accosted Chris. She answered blithely
enough, her hand still upon her _fiancé's_ arm, but yet there was that
about her that made him aware that she was not wholly at her ease. When
he drew her towards a room beyond that led to a conservatory, she hung
back.
"I want to find Bertie. Where is he?"
Jack Forest appeared at that moment, and she turned to him with evident
relief. "Oh, Jack, where is Mr. Bertrand? I told Max to hand him over to
you. He knows no one, and I do want him to have a good time."
"Be easy, my child," said Jack, with a cheery grin. "He is having the
time of his life. The mater has taken him under her wing."
"Jack!" Chris stood aghast.
"Don't agitate yourself," said Jack. "It's all serene. He is thoroughly
enjoying himself. Where are you two off to? Going to sit out in the dark?
Shall I come and mount guard?"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" protested Chris. "Jack, remember our dance is
the next."
Jack bowed with his hand on his heart. "I don't forget such things. Make
the most of your time, Trevor. It's nearly up."
He departed with a careless swagger, and Chris turned to her quiet
companion and gave a little shiver. "Why did we leave off dancing? I'm
cold."
He led her across the hall to a settee. Someone had thrown a scarf upon
it. He put it round her shoulders.
"It isn't mine," she said, "and it isn't that sort of cold either. I hope
Aunt Philippa isn't teasing Bertie. Do you think she is?"
"I think he can take care of himself," Mordaunt said.
"Do you? I don't. Aunt Philippa is sure to say horrid things to him. I
think we ought to go and find them--really."
There was a note of pleading in her voice, but Mordaunt did not respond
to it. He sat and contemplated her, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.
He leaned forward at last and spoke very quietly. "Chris," he said,
"forgive me for asking, but--you have paid your debts?"
The colour surged up all over her fair face. She began to pluck
restlessly at her fan. But she said no word. Only as he took it gravely
from her, she glanced up as though compelled, and for a single instant
sheer panic looked at him out of her eyes.
"My dear," he said, "will you attend to the matter to-morrow?"
But still she was silent, quiveringly, piteously silent. The colour had
gone out of her face now; she was as white as the dress she wore.
"You will?" he said gently.
She made a little sound that was like a repressed sob, and put her hand
sharply to her throat.
"You will?" he said again.
"Yes," she whispered.
He dismissed the matter instantly, opened the fan he had taken from her,
and began to admire it.
"Jack gave it to me," she said. "It's a birthday present. He always gives
me nice things. So do you, Trevor. Your pendant is the loveliest thing I
have ever seen."
He had sent her a pendant of turquoise and pearl, and it hung upon her
neck at the moment. She fingered it lovingly.
"I shall go to bed in it," she said, "so as to have it all night long. It
feels so delicious. I wish I could see it. It was the very thing I saw in
Bond Street a few weeks ago, and wanted to wear at Hilda's wedding." She
broke off with a sudden sigh. "It will be horrid when Hilda's married."
"Will it?" he said.
"Yes, horrid," she repeated with vehemence. "Aunt Philippa is going to
turn all her attention to me then. Of course, I know she is very kind,
but--well, I feel as if this is my last week of freedom. I shall be
almost glad when--" She broke off abruptly. "Do let us go and rescue
Bertie," she said, "before we get swallowed up in the crowd."
He got up at once and silently offered his arm. She slipped her hand
within it, and gave it a little squeeze.
"We'll dance to the _finale_ next time," she said lightly. "It's much
more fun than talking."
She added carelessly, as they moved away together: "By the way, I had my
photograph taken this morning. I don't know if you will like it. Shall I
send you one?"
"Do," he said. And after a moment, smiling faintly: "Was that the thing
that was to please me?"
She nodded, not looking at him.
He laid his hand for an instant upon hers. "Thank you, Chris," he said.
She turned instantly and smiled upon him. "You can give it to Bertie if
you don't like it," she made blithe response.