he laughed too. She got in beside him and tucked the rug round her
warmly.

"How long will it take to get home?" she asked. She seemed all at once
conscious of the growing dusk, conscious, too, of anxiety to get back
to Gladys. She was a little afraid of this man, though she would not
admit it even to herself.

"We ought to be home in an hour," he said. He started the engine.

The car ran smoothly for a mile or two. Christine began to feel
sleepy. Kettering did not talk much, and the fresh evening air on her
face was soothing and pleasant. She closed her eyes.

Presently when Kettering spoke to her he got no answer; he turned a
little in his seat and looked down at her, but her head was drooping
forward and he could not see her face.

"Christine." He spoke her name sharply, then suddenly he smiled; she
was asleep.

He moved so that her head rested against his arm; he slowed the car
down a little.

Kettering was not a young man, his fortieth birthday had been several
years a thing of the past, but all his life afterwards he looked back
on that drive home to Upton House as the happiest hour he had ever
known, with Christine's little head resting on his arm and the grey
twilight all about them. When they were half a mile from home he
roused her gently. She sat up with a start, rubbing sleepy eyes.

"Oh! where are we?" He laid his hand on hers for a moment.

"You've been asleep. We're nearly home."

He turned in at the drive of Upton House. He let her get out of the
car unassisted.

Gladys was at the door; her eyes were anxious.

"I thought you must have had an accident," she said. She caught
Christine's hand. "You're fearfully late."

"We had tea at Heston," Christine said. She ran into the house.

Kettering looked at the elder girl.

"You would not come," he said. "Don't you care for motoring?"

"No." She came down the steps and stood beside him. "Mr. Kettering,
may I say something?"

He looked faintly surprised.

"May you! Why, of course!"

"You will be angry--you will be very angry, I am afraid," she said.
"But--but I can't help it."

"Angry! What do you mean?"

There was a moment's silence, then:

"Well," said Kettering rather curtly.

She flushed, but her eyes did not fall.

"Mr. Kettering, if you are a gentleman, and I know you are, you will
never come here again," she said urgently.

A little wave of crimson surged under Kettering's brown skin, but his
eyes did