“There is no plot between us, and I never said anything to her about him,” said Chris, quickly. “But I don’t deny that I have met a gentleman belonging to the place once or twice by accident, by accident entirely; and as you take it so seriously, I shall certainly take great care not to tell you his name.” Mr. Bradfield was evidently furious; but he only said, drily: “Does your mother know of it?” “No. But,” added Chris, defiantly, “you can tell her if you like.” Her spirits had risen, for during the last few moments she had felt pretty sure that either her words or her manner, or both, had diverted his suspicions, if he had had any, from the right quarter. And all that poor Mr. Bradfield got by his talk with her was the loss of his dance; for Chris went away and hid herself, rather than walk through the quadrille with him. The next day was the faded, uncomfortable, heavy-eyed day which usually succeeds to a night of unusual dissipation. Mrs. Graham-Shute put the climax to the general discomfort by insisting that they should all, directly luncheon was over, drive some miles in the cold to inspect ruins. “But why in the world to-day?” as Lilith grumbled aloud. “As they’ve stood there since A.D. 250, mightn’t they manage to stand there a few days longer?” But Mrs. Graham-Shute saw no reason in an point of view but her own. They had an afternoon to spare; there were ruins to be seen; therefore ruins must be seen on that spare afternoon. So they all drove off in the cold, looking very blue about the nose, and feeling too cold to go to sleep, even under a mountain of rugs and furs, and nobody at all got any pleasure out of the expedition except John Bradfield, who drove Lilith over in his dog-cart, and managed, by steady persistence, to get Chris to consent to drive back with him. He was so gentle, so humble, touched just the right chords of gratitude in her so deftly, under his seeming clumsiness, that the girl could not hold out against him. However, she made her own conditions. “Mind,” she said, holding up a warning forefinger in its pretty glove, as he made a collection of rugs for her comfort, and held out his hand to help her to mount, radiant with his victory, “you are not to try to converse with me except upon the subjects I specially choose, for I’m too cold to be civil, unless I have everything my own way.” Mr. Bradfield, glad to get her upon any terms, consented with a roar of laughter. But Mrs. Graham-Shute, who overheard this speech from Chris, was overwhelmed by the girl’s audacity. “I wonder how my cousin puts up with such impudence,” she said, in a tone of exasperation, as she floundered, panting, through the mud which, at this season, was an indispensable adjunct to the ruins. “She puts on all the airs of a person of consequence, like her horrible old mother. Thank goodness, I’ve escaped an afternoon with _her_, at any rate.”