"And you mean to say that this French secretary of Trevor's actually lives in the house?" said Aunt Philippa.
"But of course he does," said Chris, opening her eyes wide.
"And is Trevor never away?" demanded Aunt Philippa.
"He hasn't been, but he talks of spending a night in town next week."
Chris flushed a little. "I don't suppose so. He is feeling the heat too." She stretched up her hands above her head. "How I wish it would rain!"
Aunt Philippa continued her knitting severely in silence. They were sitting on the terrace awaiting the luncheon-hour. Across the garden came Noel's shrill whistle, and instinctively, before she remembered her aunt's presence, Chris answered it. The boy appeared at the farther end of the long lawn, and came racing towards them.
"Just seen the postman, Chris. Here's a letter for you--such a horrible fist, Sandacre post-mark, and sealed. Wonder who it's from?"
He leaned against her chair to recover his breath and regarded the envelope he held with frank interest.
Chris stretched up her hand for it. "I expect it's from Mrs. Pouncefort."
"Mrs. Pouncefort doesn't write like that!" protested Noel. "No woman could."
He put it into her hand, but he still leaned against her chair. "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?"