Christine was the only one who recognized at once the fact that both men were angry; and she did not pour oil on the waters by laughing gaily. “You can’t find any subject for argument there,” she observed, “for you are both perfectly right. You have both made me the subject of gossip; but don’t let it worry you, for my best friends have long ago accustomed me to that.” “I hope you won’t think I’m asking too much, Mr. Riatt,” said Linburne, with a politeness that only accentuated his irritation, “in suggesting that as your visit is, I believe, unexpected, and as mine is an appointment of some standing, that you will go away and let me finish my conversation with Miss Fenimer.” Max smiled. “Oddly enough,” he said, “I was about to make the same request to you. But I suppose we must let Miss Fenimer settle the question.” Christine smiled like an angel. “Can’t we have a nice time as we are?” she asked. This frivolous reply was properly ignored by both men, and Riatt went on: “Don’t you think you ought to consider the fact that Miss Fenimer and I are engaged?” “Miss Fenimer assures me she does not intend to marry you.” “And may I ask if you consider that she does intend to marry you--that is if you should happen to become marriageable?” “That is a question between her and me,” returned Linburne. Riatt laughed. “I see,” he said. “The matrimonial plans of my future wife are no affair of mine?” And for an instant he felt his most proprietary rights were being invaded. “Miss Fenimer is not your future wife.” “Well, Mr. Linburne, I hear you say so.” “You shall hear _her_ say so,” answered Linburne. “Christine,” he added peremptorily, “tell Riatt what you have just been telling me.” There was a long painful silence. Both men stood looking intently at Christine, who sat with her head erect, staring ahead of her like a sphinx, but saying nothing. After a moment she glanced up at Max’s face, as if she expected to find there an answer to her problem. She did not look at Linburne. “Christine,” said Max very gently, “what have you told Mr. Linburne?” “She has told me everything,” answered Linburne impetuously, and then seeing by the glance that the two others exchanged that such was not the case, his temper got the best of him. “Do you mean you’ve been lying to me?” he asked. “Just what did you tell him, Christine?” said Riatt, finding it easier and easier to be calm and protecting as his adversary grew more violent. Christine looked up at him with the innocence of a child. “I told him that we did not love each other, and that our engagement was really broken, but that no one was to know until March.” “Why did you tell him that?” “It’s the truth, Max--almost the truth.” “Almost the truth!” cried Linburne. “Do you want me to think you care something for this man after all?” “In the simple section of the country from which I come,” observed Riatt, “we often care a good deal for the people we marry.”