The Rocks of Valpre by Ethel May Dell (best contemporary novels .txt) 📕

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 Valpre! 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 naively, 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 _fiance'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.


CHAPTER XIII
PALS

"Ah! now for a good talk," said Chris. "We have got at least half an hour. Are you tired, Bertie, or only bored?"
But he was neither, he assured her. He had enjoyed his evening greatly. No, he had not danced. He had found it enough diverting to look on tranquilly in a corner. _Mais oui_, everybody had been most kind, including his hostess, to whom he paid a special tribute of appreciation. He had found her as gracious as she was beautiful.
"Did she try to pump you?" asked Chris.
He raised his brows in humorous bewilderment. But to pump--what was it? To ask questions? Ah yes, she had asked him several questions. He had not answered all of them. He feared she had found him a little stupid. But she had been very patient with him, ah! so patient--he spread out his hands, with the old, quick smile, and Chris's peal of laughter echoed far and wide.
"Bertie, you're too heavenly for words! Then she didn't find out about Valpre? She thinks--I suppose she thinks--that Trevor introduced us to each other."
"I do not know what she thinks," the Frenchman made answer. "But no, we did not speak of Valpre! That is a secret, _hein_?"
"Not exactly a secret. I told Max. But Aunt Philippa--oh, she is so different. She never understands things," said Chris. "I daresay she will find out from Trevor as it is; but I hope she won't--I do hope she won't!"
He smiled comprehendingly. "But Mr. Mordaunt--he understands, yes?" he said.
She hesitated. "I never told even him about that night in the Magic Cave, Bertie."
"No?" he said, his quick eyes upon her. "But why not?"
She shook her head with vehemence. "I couldn't. Everyone--even Jack--made such a fuss at the time--as if--as if"--she turned crimson--"I had done something really wicked. I'm sure I don't know why. I always said so."
There was defiance as well as distress in her voice. Bertrand leaned a little towards her.
"Mr. Mordaunt would not think like that," he said, with conviction.
She looked at him dubiously. "I'm not so sure. He has extraordinary views on some things. I never quite know how he will take anything. Other people are the same. You are the only person I am quite sure of."
He smiled, but not as if greatly elated. "That is because we are pals," he said.
"Yes, I know. It's good to have a pal who understands." Chris spoke a little wistfully, but almost instantly dismissed the matter. "Why, I am forgetting! You haven't seen Cinders yet, and I told him you were coming. He is upstairs. Shall we go and find him?"
They went up together. Half-way up she slipped her hand into his, with a soft little laugh. "It's like old times, Bertie. Don't break the spell, _preux chevalier_. Let us pretend--just for to-night!"
They found Cinders imprisoned in a little sitting-room at the top of the house which Chris shared with her cousin. His greeting of Bertrand was effusive, even rapturous. Like his mistress, he never forgot a friend.
Afterwards they sat and talked of many things, chiefly connected with Valpre. There was so much to remember--Mademoiselle Gautier and her queer, conventual prejudices, Manon, the maid-of-all-work, and her funny stories of the shore.
"She quite believed in the spell," Chris said. "She almost frightened me with it."
"Without doubt there was a spell," said Bertrand gravely.
"You