Rupert was on his feet in a moment. With the book pressed against his
heart, he swept a low bow to the advancing stranger.

"You come in the nick of time," he observed, "to preserve me from my
sister's fratricidal intentions. Perhaps you would like to arbitrate. The
offence was that I accused her of being in love--with you, of course. She
seems to think the assertion unwarrantable."

"Oh, Trevor, don't listen!" besought Chris. "He only goes on like that
because he thinks it's clever. Do snub him as he deserves!"

"Pray do!" said Rupert. "Begin by asking him how old he is, and whether
he knows his nine-times backwards yet. Also--"

"Also," broke in Mordaunt, with a smile, "if he can't find something more
profitable to do than to tease his small sister." He extended a quiet
hand. "I have been wanting to make your acquaintance for some time. In
fact, I was contemplating running down to Sandacre for the purpose."

"Very good of you," said Rupert. He dropped his chaffing air and grasped
the proffered hand with abrupt friendliness. There was something about
this man that caught his fancy. "You would be very welcome at any time.
It isn't much of a show down there, but if you don't mind that--"

"I shouldn't come for the sake of the show," said Mordaunt. "I'd sooner
see a battalion at work than at play."

"Ah! Wouldn't I, too!" said Rupert, with sudden fire. "We hope to be
ordered to India next year. That wouldn't be absolute stagnation, anyhow.
I loathe home work."