r. "Be quick
and open it, I say! It looks important."

"I don't suppose it is," said Chris; but she opened it notwithstanding
with some curiosity.

Aunt Philippa had arrived only the night before, but she was already very
tired of her society, and any diversion was welcome.

"You don't mind?" she murmured to her aunt.

Her eyes were already upon the first page as she spoke. She frowned over
the unfamiliar handwriting.

Noel studied it also over her shoulder. "What on earth--" he began.

She looked up suddenly, and crumpled the paper in her hand. "Noel, go
away! How dare you!"

He stared at her in amazement. A sharp word from Chris was most unusual.
Aunt Philippa looked up also.

"My dear girl, it isn't private, is it?" said Noel.

Chris was scarlet. She seemed to breathe with difficulty. "Of course it's
private! All my letters are private!"

"But it comes from the Pounceforts," objected Noel. "I saw 'Sandacre
Court' at the top of the page."

Chris sprang to her feet impetuously with blazing eyes. "And what if it
does? You had no right to look over me. It was a hateful thing to do.
What if it does come from Mrs. Pouncefort? Is it mine any the less for
that?"

"Oh, don't get huffy!" remonstrated Noel. "Look at you! Anyone would
think you had got the palsy. But you needn't pretend it's from Mrs.
Pouncefort, because I know better."

"It--it is from Mrs. Pouncefort!" declared Chris.

"Which is a lie," rejoined Noel, with the utmost calmness. "I know you,
my dear girl, I know you. You've told 'em before."

"Noel!" Aunt Philippa interposed her voice with extreme dignity. "You
forget yourself. If you cannot speak with ordinary courtesy, be good
enough to leave us."

Noel heeded the remonstrance no more than if it had been the buzzing of a
fly. Chris's spark of temper had kindled his.

"Oh, you can swear it's the truth till all's blue," he declared, raising
his voice recklessly. "But that doesn't make it so. In fact, it only
makes the contrary all the more likely. Besides, you know you do lie,
Chris, so you needn't deny it."

"Noel!"

It was not Aunt Philippa's voice this time, and it had in it so firm a
note of authority that instinctively Noel turned.

Mordaunt, just returned from a ride, was standing in his shirt-sleeves at
an open window above them. All the colour went out of Chris's face at
sight of him, but he did not look at her.

"Come up here," he said to Noel. "I want to speak to you."

"N