TJie Real Charlotte. 243 



" Then you don't want me ? " said Christopher, almost in 

 a whisper. 



''Why should I want you or anybody?" she answered, 

 determined to misunderstand him, and to be like her usual 

 self in spite of the distress and excitement that she felt ; 

 " I'm well able to look after myself, though you mightn't 

 think it, and I don't want anything this minute, only my tea, 

 and Norry's as cross as the cats, and I know she won't have 

 the cake made ! " She tried to laugh, but the laugh 

 faltered away into tears. She turned her head aside, and 

 putting one hand to her eyes, felt with the other in her 

 pocket for her handkerchief. It was underneath Hawkins' 

 letter, and as she snatched it out, it carried the letter along 

 with it. 



Christopher had started up, unable to bear the sight of 

 her tears, and as he stood there, hesitating on the verge of 

 catching her in his arms, he saw the envelope slip down on 

 to the floor. As it fell the photograph slid out of its worn 

 covering, and lay face uppermost at his feet. He picked it 

 up, and having placed it with the letter on the sofa beside 

 Francie, he walked to the window and looked sightlessly out 

 into the garden. A heavily-laden tray bumped against the 

 door, the handle turned, and Louisa, having pushed the 

 door open with her knee, staggered in with the tea-tray. 

 She had placed it on the table and was back again in the 

 kitchen, talking over the situation with Bid Sal, before 

 Christopher spoke. 



" I'm afraid I can't stay any longer," he said, in a voice 

 that was at once quieter and rougher than its wont ; " you 

 must forgive me if anything that I said has — has hurt you 

 — I didn't mean it to hurt you." He stopped short and 

 walked towards the door. As he opened it, he looked back 

 at her for an instant, but he did not speak again. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 



The kitchen at Tally Ho generally looked its best at ten 

 o'clock in the morning. Its best is, in this case, a relative 

 term, implying the temporary concealment of the plates, 

 loaves of bread, dirty rubbers, and jam-pots full of congealed 



