She regarded him speculatively. "I don't like secrets," she said.

"Haven't you any of your own?" he asked.

"No. At least--" she suddenly coloured vividly under his eyes--"none that
matter."

He sat down upon the balustrade of the balcony, bringing his eyes on a
level with hers. "None that you wouldn't tell me," he suggested, still
faintly smiling.

She recovered from her confusion with a quick laugh. "I shouldn't dream
of telling you--some things," she said.

Her hand moved a little in his as though it wanted to be free, but he
held it still. He bent towards her, his grey eyes no longer searching,
only very soft and tender.

"You will when we are married, dear," he said.

But Chris shook her head with much decision. "Oh, no! I couldn't
possibly. You would disapprove far too much. As Aunt Philippa says, you
would be 'pained beyond expression.'"

But Mordaunt only drew her nearer. "You--child!" he said.

She yielded, half-protesting. "Yes, but I'm not quite a baby. I think you
ought to remember that. Shall we go back? I know Rupert is sniggering
behind the curtain."