remark with some acidity that if she didn't come to grief one way or
another, this would probably continue to be the case for the term of her
natural life. But it was quite plain that Aunt Philippa expected her to
come to grief. Girls like Chris, unless they married out of the
schoolroom, usually played with fire until they burnt their fingers. The
fact of the matter was Chris was far too attractive, and though as yet
sublimely unconscious of the fact, Aunt Philippa knew that sooner or
later it was bound to dawn upon her. She did not relish the prospect of
steering this giddy little barque through the shoals and quicksands of
society, being shrewdly suspicious that the task might well prove too
much for her. For with all her sweetness, Chris was undeniably wilful, a
princess who expected to have her own way; and Aunt Philippa had a
daughter of her own, Chris's senior by three years, as well as a son in
the Guards, to consider.

No, she did not approve of Chris, or indeed of any of the family,
including her own brother, who was its head. She had not approved of his
gay young wife, Irish and volatile, who had died at the birth of little
Noel. She doubted the stability of each one of them in turn, and plainly
told her brother that he must attend to the launching of his children for
himself. She was willing to do her best for them as children, but as
grown-ups she declined the responsibility.

His answer to this had been that they must remain children until he could
spare the time to attend to them. The eldest boy, Rupert, was now at
Sandhurst, Maxwell was being educated at Marlborough, and Noel, who was
never very strong, was at present with Chris in Mademoiselle Gautier's
care. The summer holiday at Valpré had been Mademoiselle's suggestion,
and bitterly had she lived to regret it.