“You needn’t advertise it,” laughed Louis; but he could more readily have kissed her feet in admiration for the gallant pull-up; her little gold head jauntily tilted towards defeat, instead of bowed down under it. “I prefer my Mephistophelian reputation, thanks. I may be a prig tonight, but I don’t intend to make a habit of it, Ursula Barrison.” “Your next victim will find you doubly the Evil One, in fact,” she surmised lazily. “And labelled ‘dangerous’ from head to foot.” Louis’ reply was an unexpectedly savage kick at Doug. “It’s not the man labelled ‘dangerous’ of whom women need beware; if he _is_ easy with his kisses and his innuendoes, they all recognize him.... But your strong romantic figure with a boy’s heart, and speech nobly bitten back, and a great love silently endured--one great love after another---- Oh, Lord, he makes me _groan_! And the harm he does is deadly--every time.” “Is it possible that you mean my husband?” Ursula mocked. “It needn’t be deadly for Christine.... I can prophesy a charming idyll for Christine, and quite plausible. Would you like to hear it? Aunt Lavvy has taken a fancy to her, you see. And after we have all enjoyed a happy month together at Grey Stone, Christine will be invited down to the Laburnums for Christmas, because the poor brave child needs to be petted and cheered--‘Haven’t you noticed, Ursula, that she’s moping?’ Oh yes, my Aunt Lavvy is quite observant. And at the Laburnums for Christmas will be my handsome brother Hal.” “Your other rescue? It _is_ an idyll! And they both live happy ever after. They’ll never be grateful to you, Ursula, but _I_ am ... for them. You--you young captain!” [IX] CHRISTINE sat huddled on the window-seat of the room, her lashes and mouth curled softly upwards to the round rusty disc of the October full moon. In that wistful attitude, and wearing loose white cotton pyjamas that sagged from her slim body, she looked more like Pierrot than ever. The moonlight touched the sea, and her throat, and burnished the top of her round dark head. She had said good-bye to Doug a few hours ago--oh, not an ordinary good-bye, they would still be seeing each other every day for a fortnight or more. But--_good-bye_! She did not cry ... though she felt very sad (gloriously sad!). It had all been too romantic for tears. Romantic--and queer too. Even now there were things about the last twenty-four hours which she did not quite understand. _Why_ did Ursula not return from Gullick last night? Where had she stayed? What was in the note that Doug had discovered in the cabin, on their return from a jolly evening at Miss Gregson’s? Oh well, the answers were easy, to anyone with Christine’s experience of life. Ursula had eloped with Louis Gregson--fascinating foreigner (“he’s called Louis and his moustache is awfully foreign,” Chris argued with moon). And the note was to explain matters to her husband.