"But I don't love Chris like that," protested Gay, shrinking a little from this woman whose eyes, lips, voice were passion incarnate; instinctively she knew that a man prefers to find most of the vehemence himself.... A servant knocked at the door, and announced that Mr. Mackrell was in the drawing-room, and the impulse, swift as a bird's homing flight, that took Lossie half-way across the room to go to him, startled Gay--just so would she have sped to Chris had all been well between them--and had not love his rights; was not Rensslaer only but now insisting on them? "Lossie," she said, "if you can convince Carlton that your love will make him happier than my"--she hesitated--"affection can, go to him now." But Lossie, turning even whiter, trembled, and shook her head. "I daren't," she said in a whisper, "it must come from you. He would never forgive me--only if you were Chris's wife, I might have a chance.... Oh, Gay, I've been a beast to you often, but you've had all the luck, and I've had none"--she was like a passionate child clamouring for the toy that she coveted, thought her cousin, it was a bright, expensive toy that Gay did not want herself, she only wanted her dear old rag doll, for so she at that moment absurdly designated Chris. "Carlton must decide," she said, and went with lagging steps to the drawing-room, where her lover very quickly _did_, for he stepped up close, held her fast, and kissed her--kissed her like a man who had long starved for that moment, and could not take enough. As she tore herself away, she could have wept to think that the first kiss of her lips was not for Chris, and the contrast of Carlton, supremely handsome and happy, with the girl she had just left, revolted her. Her voice was strange as she said, "Will you go to my den? I will follow you there immediately," and turned aside that he might not see her face. He coloured with disappointment and surprise, but of course there would be greater privacy there... Without a word he went. As the door closed him in with Lossie, Chris came flying up the stairs, taking three steps at a time, a young god in his swiftness, strength and joy, bringing all the best gifts that life and love can bring to the beloved woman--too late. CHAPTER XXXI A DEBT OF HONOUR It was not until Chris had caught Gay in those long, muscular arms of his, and lifted her clean off her feet, only to find her fiercely fighting his kisses, that he realised how completely his feelings had run away with him, how he had taken everything for granted, and he begged her forgiveness as he set her gently on the ground. "Had a bother in the stable--one of my horses gone clean off his head," he said in his boyish way, "or I should have been here with the morning milk. I've got grand news, darling, Rensslaer has given me a berth and house at Elsinore--I'm giving up steeplechasing, and we're going to be happy ever after!"