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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Second Honeymoon, by Ruby M. Ayres
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Second Honeymoon
+
+
+Author: Ruby M. Ayres
+
+
+
+Release Date: January 2, 2006  [eBook #17446]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECOND HONEYMOON***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Al Haines
+
+
+
+THE SECOND HONEYMOON
+
+by
+
+RUBY M. AYRES
+
+Author of A Bachelor Husband, The Scar, Etc.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+New York
+Grosset & Dunlap
+Publishers
+Made in the United States of America
+Copyright, 1921, by
+W. J. Watt & Company
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+CHAPTER
+
+     I  THE PAST INTERVENES
+    II  JILTED!
+   III  THE TWO WOMEN
+    IV  JIMMY GETS NEWS
+     V  SANGSTER TAKES A HAND
+    VI  JIMMY DEMANDS THE TRUTH
+   VII  LOVE AND POVERTY
+  VIII  THE SECOND ENGAGEMENT
+    IX  MOTHERLESS
+     X  JIMMY HAS A VISITOR
+    XI  HUSBAND AND WIFE
+   XII  SANGSTER IS CONSULTED
+  XIII  CHRISTINE HEARS THE TRUTH
+   XIV  BITTERNESS
+    XV  SANGSTER SPEAKS IN RIDDLES
+   XVI  THE PAST RETURNS
+  XVII  JIMMY BREAKS OUT
+ XVIII  KETTERING HEARS SOMETHING
+   XIX  A CHANCE MEETING
+    XX  LOVE LOCKED OUT
+   XXI  THE COMPACT
+  XXII  TOO LATE!
+ XXIII  THE UNEXPECTED
+
+
+
+
+THE SECOND HONEYMOON
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE PAST INTERVENES
+
+James Challoner, known to his friends and intimates as Jimmy, brushed
+an imaginary speck of dust from the shoulder of his dinner jacket, and
+momentarily stopped his cheery whistling to stare at himself in the
+glass with critical eyes.
+
+Jimmy was feeling very pleased with himself in particular and the world
+in general.  He was young, and quite passably good-looking, he had
+backed a couple of winners that day for a nice little sum, and he was
+engaged to a woman with whom he had been desperately in love for at
+least three months.
+
+Three months was a long time for Jimmy Challoner to be in love (as a
+rule, three days was the outside limit which he allowed himself), but
+this--well, this was the real thing at last--the real, romantic thing
+of which author chaps and playwright Johnnies wrote; the thing which
+sweeps a man clean off his feet and paints the world with rainbow tints.
+
+Jimmy Challoner was sure of it.  His usually merry eyes sobered a
+little as he met their solemn reflection in the mirror.  He took up a
+silver-backed brush and carefully smoothed down a kink of hair which
+stood aggressively erect above the rest.  It was a confounded nuisance,
+that obstinate wave in his hair, making him look like a poet or a
+drawing-room actor.
+
+Not that he objected to actors and the stage in the very least; on the
+contrary, he had the profoundest admiration for them, at which one
+could hardly wonder seeing that Cynthia--bless her heart!--was at
+present playing lead in one of the suburban theatres, and that at that
+very moment a pass for the stage box reposed happily in an inner pocket
+of his coat.
+
+Cynthia was fast making a name for herself.  In his adoring eyes she
+was perfect, and in his blissful heart he was confident that one day
+all London would be talking about her.  Her photographs would be In
+every shop window, and people would stand all day outside the pit and
+gallery to cheer her on first nights.
+
+When he voiced these sentiments to Cynthia herself, she only laughed
+and called him a "silly boy"; but he knew that she was pleased to hear
+them all the same.
+
+Jimmy Challoner gave a last look at his immaculate figure, took up his
+coat and gloves and went out.
+
+He called a taxi and gave the address of the suburban theatre before he
+climbed in out of the chilly night and sat back in a corner.
+
+Jimmy Challoner was quite young, and very much in love; so much in love
+that as yet he had not penetrated the rouge and grease-paint of life
+and discovered the very ordinary material that lies beneath it.  The
+glare of the footlights still blinded him.  Like a child who is taken
+for the first time to a pantomime, he did not realise that their
+brilliance is there in order to hide imperfections.
+
+He was so perfectly happy that he paid the driver double fare when he
+reached the theatre.  An attentive porter hurried forward.
+
+Just at the moment Jimmy Challoner was very well known in that
+particular neighbourhood; he was generous with his tips for one thing,
+and for another he had a cheery personality which went down with most
+people.
+
+He went round to the stage door as if he were perfectly at home there,
+as indeed he was.  The doorkeeper bade him a respectful good evening,
+and asked no questions as he went on and up the chill stone passage.
+
+At the top a door on the right was partly open.  A bar of yellow light
+streamed out into the passage.  A little flush crept into Challoner's
+youthful face.  He passed a hand once more nervously over the
+refractory kink before he went forward and knocked.
+
+A preoccupied voice said, "Come in."
+
+Challoner obeyed.  He stood for a moment just inside the door without
+speaking.
+
+It was not a very large room, and the first impression it gave one was
+that it was frightfully overcrowded.
+
+Every chair and table seemed littered with frocks and furbelows.  Every
+available space on the walls was covered with pictures and photographs
+and odds and ends.  The room was brilliantly lit, and at a
+dressing-table strewn with make-up boxes and a hundred and one toilet
+requisites, a girl was reading a letter.
+
+At first glance she looked very young.  She was small and dainty, with
+clearly cut features and beautiful hair, the most beautiful hair in all
+the world Jimmy Challoner thought for the thousandth time as he stood
+in the doorway looking across at her with his foolish heart in his
+eyes.  She seemed to feel his gaze, for she turned sharply.  Then she
+drew in her breath hard, and hurriedly thrust the letter away in a
+drawer as she rose to her feet.
+
+"You!" she said; then, "Jimmy, didn't--didn't you get my letter?"
+
+Challoner went forward.  His confident smile had faded a little at the
+unusual greeting.  It was impossible not to realise that he was not
+exactly welcome.
+
+"No, I haven't had a letter," he said rather blankly.  "What did you
+write about?  Is anything the matter?"
+
+She laughed rather constrainedly.  "No--at least, I can't explain now."
+Her eyes sought his face rather furtively.  "I'm in a hurry.  Come
+round after the first act, will you?--that's the longest interval.  You
+won't mind being sent away now, will you?  I am due on almost directly."
+
+She held her hand to him.  "Silly boy! don't frown like that."
+
+Challoner took the hand and drew her nearer to him.  "I'm not going
+till you've kissed me."
+
+There was a touch of masterfulness in his boyish voice.  Cynthia Farrow
+half sighed, and for a moment a little line of pain bent her brows, but
+the next moment she was smiling.
+
+"Very well, just one, and be careful of the powder."
+
+Challoner kissed her right on the lips.  "Did you get my flowers?  I
+sent roses."
+
+"Yes, thank you so much, they are lovely."
+
+She glanced across the room to where several bouquets lay on the table.
+Challoner's was only one of them.
+
+That was what he hated--having to stand by and allow other men to
+shower presents on her.
+
+He let her go and walked over to the table where the flowers lay.  He
+was still frowning.  Across the room Cynthia Farrow watched him rather
+anxiously.
+
+A magnificent cluster of orchids lay side by side with his own bouquet
+of roses; he bent and looked at the card; a little flush crept into his
+cheek.
+
+"Mortlake again!  I hate that fellow.  It's infernal cheek of him to
+send you flowers when he knows that you're engaged to me----"
+
+He looked round at her.  She was standing leaning against the littered
+dressing-table, eyes down-cast.
+
+There was a moment of silence, then; Challoner went back and took her
+in his arms.
+
+"I know I'm a jealous brute, but I can't stand it when these other
+fellows send you things."
+
+"You promised me you wouldn't mind."
+
+"I know, but--oh, confound it!"  A faint tap at the door was followed
+by the entrance of a dresser.  Challoner moved away.
+
+"After the first act, then," he said.
+
+"Yes."  But she did not look at him.
+
+He went away disconsolately and round to the stage box.  He was
+conscious of a faint depression.  Cynthia had not been pleased to see
+him--had not been expecting him.  Something was the matter.  He had
+vexed her.  What had she written to him about, he wondered?
+
+He looked round the house anxiously.  It was well filled and his brow
+cleared.  He hated Cynthia to have to play to a poor house--she was so
+wonderful!
+
+A lady in the stalls below bowed to him.  Challoner stared, then
+returned the bow awkwardly.
+
+Who the dickens was she, he asked himself?
+
+She was middle-aged and grey-haired, and she had a girl in a white
+frock sitting beside her.
+
+They were both looking up at him and smiling.  There was something
+eagerly expectant in the girl's face.
+
+Challoner felt embarrassed.  He was sure that he ought to know who they
+were, but for the life of him he could not think.  He met so many
+people in his rather aimless life it was impossible to remember them
+all.
+
+His eyes turned to them again and again.  There was something very
+familiar in the face of the elder woman--something----  Challoner knit
+his brows.  Who the dickens----
+
+The lights went down here, and he forgot all about them as the curtains
+rolled slowly up on Cynthia's first act.
+
+Challoner almost knew the play by heart, but he followed it all
+eagerly, word by word, as if he had never seen it before, till the big
+velvet curtains fell together again, and a storm of applause broke the
+silence.
+
+Challoner rose hastily.  He had just opened the door of the box to go
+to Cynthia when an attendant entered.  He carried a note on a tray.
+
+"For you, sir."
+
+Challoner took it wonderingly.  It was written in pencil on a page torn
+from a pocket-book.
+
+"A lady in the stalls gave it to me, sir," the attendant explained,
+vaguely apologetic.
+
+Jimmy unfolded the little slip of paper, and read the faintly pencilled
+words.  "Won't you come and speak to us, or have you quite forgotten
+the old days at Upton House?"
+
+Challoner's face flashed into eager delight.  What an idiot he had been
+not to recognise them.  How could he have ever forgotten them?  Of
+course, the girl in the white frock was Christine, whose mother had
+given his boyhood all it had ever known of home life!
+
+Of course, he had not seen them for years, but--dash it all! what an
+ungrateful brute they must think him!
+
+For the moment even Cynthia was forgotten in the sudden excitement of
+this meeting with old friends.  Challoner rushed off to the stalls.
+
+"I knew it must be you," Christine's mother said, as Jimmy dropped into
+an empty seat beside her.  "Christine saw you first, but we knew you
+had not the faintest notion as to who we were, although you bowed so
+politely," she added laughing.
+
+"I'm ashamed, positively ashamed," Jimmy admitted, blushing
+ingenuously.  "But I am delighted--simply delighted to see you and
+Christine again--I suppose it is Christine," he submitted doubtfully.
+
+The girl in the white frock smiled.  "Yes, and I knew you at once," she
+said.
+
+Challoner was conscious of a faint disappointment as he looked at her.
+She had been such a pretty kid.  She had hardly fulfilled all the
+promise she had given of being an equally pretty woman, he thought
+critically, not realising that it was the vivid colouring of Cynthia
+Farrow that had for the moment at least spoilt him for paler beauty.
+
+Christine was very pale and a little nervous-looking.  Her eyes--such
+beautiful brown eyes they were--showed darkly against her fair skin.
+Her hair was brown, too, dead brown, very straight and soft.
+
+"By Jove! it's ripping to see you again after all this time," Jimmy
+Challoner broke out again eagerly.  He looked at the mother rather than
+the daughter, for though he and Christine had been sweethearts for a
+little while in her pinafore days, Jimmy Challoner had adored Mrs.
+Wyatt right up to the time when, in his first Eton coat, he had said
+good-bye to her to go to school and walked right out of their lives.
+
+"And what are you doing now, Jimmy?" Mrs. Wyatt asked him.  "I suppose
+I may still call you Jimmy?" she said playfully.
+
+"Rather! please do!  I'm not doing anything, as a matter of fact,"
+Challoner explained rather vaguely.  "I've got rooms in the Temple, and
+the great Horatio sends me a quarterly allowance, and expects me not to
+live beyond it."  He made a little grimace.  "You remember my brother
+Horace, of course!"
+
+"Of course I do!  Is he still abroad?"
+
+"Yes, he'll never come back now; not that I want him to," Jimmy
+hastened to add, with one of those little inward qualms that shook him
+whenever he thought of his brother, and what that brother would say
+when he knew that he was shortly to be asked to accept Cynthia Farrow
+as a sister-in-law.
+
+The great Horatio, as Jimmy disrespectfully called the head of his
+family, loathed the stage.  It was his one dread that some day the
+blueness of his blood might run the risk of taint by being even
+remotely connected with one of its members.
+
+"He's not married, of course?" Mrs. Wyatt asked.
+
+Challoner chuckled.  "Married! Good Lord, no!"  He leaned a little
+forward to look at Christine.
+
+"And you?" he asked.  "Has the perfect man come along yet?"
+
+It had been an old joke of his in the far away days, that Christine
+would never marry until she found a perfect man.  She had always had
+such quaintly romantic fancies behind the seriousness of her beautiful
+brown eyes.
+
+She flushed now, shaking her head.  "And you?" she asked.  "Are you
+married?"
+
+Challoner said "No" very quickly.  He wondered whether he ought to tell
+them about Cynthia.  The thought reminded him of his promise to go to
+her after the first act.  He rose hastily to his feet.
+
+"I quite forgot.  I've got an appointment.  If you'll excuse me, I'll
+come back, if I may."
+
+He bowed himself off.  Christine's beautiful eyes followed him
+wistfully.
+
+"I never thought he'd be half so good-looking when he grew up," she
+said.  "And yet somehow he hasn't altered much, has he?"
+
+"He hasn't altered in manner in the least," Mrs. Wyatt laughed.  "Fancy
+him remembering about your perfect man, Christine?  We must ask him to
+dinner one night while we are in London.  How funny, meeting him like
+this.  I always liked him so much.  I wonder he hasn't got married,
+though--a charming boy like that!"  But her voice sounded as if she
+were rather pleased to find Challoner still a bachelor.
+
+"I don't know why he should be married," Christine said.  "He's not
+very old--only twenty-seven, mother."
+
+"Is that all?  Yes, I suppose he is--the time goes so quickly."
+
+Challoner, meanwhile, had raced off to the back of the stage.  He could
+not imagine how on earth he had even for one second forgotten his
+appointment.  He was flushed with remorse and eagerness when he reached
+Cynthia's room.
+
+A dresser was retouching her hair.  Challoner waited impatiently till
+Cynthia sent her away.  It occurred to him that she was deliberately
+detaining her.  He bit his lip.
+
+But at last she was dismissed, and the door had hardly closed before he
+stepped forward.
+
+"Darling!" his eager arms were round her.  "Are you angry with me?  Did
+you think I had forgotten?  I met some old friends--at least, they
+spotted me from the stalls and sent a note, and, of course, I had to go
+and speak to them."
+
+She was standing rather stiffly within the circle of his arms.
+
+"You're not wild with me?" he asked in a whisper.  "I'm so sorry.  If
+you knew how badly I wanted to see you."
+
+He kissed her lips.
+
+She was singularly unresponsive, though for a moment she let her head
+rest against his shoulder.  Then she raised it and moved away.
+
+"Jimmy, I want to talk to you.  No, stay there," as he made a little
+eager movement to follow.  "Stay there; I can't talk to you if you
+won't be sensible."
+
+"I am sensible."  Challoner dragged up a chair and sat straddled across
+it, his arms on the back, looking at her with ardent eyes.  She kept
+her own averted.  She seemed to find it hard to begin what it was she
+wanted to say.  She stood beside the dressing-table absently fingering
+the trinkets lying there.  Among them was a portrait of Challoner in a
+silver frame.  The pictured eyes seemed to be watching her as she stood
+trying to avoid the human ones.  With sudden exasperation she turned.
+
+"Jimmy, you'll hate me--you'll--oh, why didn't you get my letter?" she
+broke out vehemently.  "I explained so carefully, I----" she stopped.
+
+There was a little silence.  Challoner rose to his feet.  He was rather
+white about the lips.  There was a dawning apprehension in his eyes.
+
+"Go on," he said.  "What is it you--you can't--can't tell me?"
+
+But he knew already, knew before she told him with desperate candour.
+
+"I can't marry you, Jimmy, I'm sorry, but--but I can't--that's all."
+
+The silence fell again.  Behind the closed door in the crowded theatre
+the orchestra suddenly broke into a ragtime.  Challoner found himself
+listening to it dully.  Everything felt horribly unreal.  It almost
+seemed like a scene in a play--this hot, crowded room; the figure of
+the woman opposite in her expensive stage gown, and--himself!
+
+A long glass on the wall opposite reflected both their figures.  Jimmy
+Challoner met his mirrored eyes, and a little wave of surprise filled
+him when he saw how white he was.  He pulled himself together with a
+desperate effort.  He tried to find his voice.
+
+Suddenly he heard it, cracked, strained, asking a one-word question.
+
+"Why?"
+
+She did not answer at once.  She had turned away again.  She was
+aimlessly opening and shutting a little silver powder-box lying amongst
+the brushes and make-up.  All his life Jimmy Challoner remembered the
+little clicking noise it made.
+
+He could see nothing of her face.  He made a sudden passionate movement
+towards her.
+
+"Cynthia, in God's name why--why?"
+
+He laid his hands on her shoulders.  She wriggled free of his touch.
+For an instant she seemed to be deliberately weighing something in her
+mind.  Then at last she spoke.
+
+"Because--because my husband is still living."
+
+"Still--living!"  Jimmy Challoner echoed the words stupidly.  He passed
+a hand over his eyes.  He felt dazed.  After a moment he laughed.  He
+groped backwards for a chair and dropped into it.
+
+"Still--living!  Are you--are you _sure_?"
+
+So it was not that she did not love him.  His first thought was one of
+utter relief--thank God, it was not that!
+
+She put the little silver box down with a sort of impatience.  "Yes,"
+she said.  She spoke so softly he could hardly catch the monosyllable.
+
+Challoner leaned his head in his hands.  He was trying desperately to
+think, to straighten out this hopeless tangle in his brain, but
+everything was confused.
+
+Of course, he knew that she had been married before--knew that years
+and years ago, before she had really known her own mind, she had
+married a man--a worthless waster--who had left her within a few months
+of their marriage.  She had told him this herself, quite
+straightforwardly.  Told him, too, that the man was dead.
+
+And after all he was still living!
+
+The knowledge hammered against his brain, but as yet he could not
+realise its meaning.  Cynthia went on jerkily.
+
+"I only knew--yesterday.  I wrote to you.  I--at first I thought it
+could not be true.  But--but now I know it is.  Oh, why don't you say
+something--anything?" she broke out passionately.
+
+Challoner looked up.  "What can I say, if this is true?"
+
+"It is true," her face was flushed.  There was a hard look in her eyes
+as if she were trying to keep back tears.  After a moment she moved
+over to where he sat and laid a hand on his shoulder.
+
+Jimmy Challoner turned his head and kissed it.
+
+"Don't take it so badly, Jimmy.  It's--it's worse for me," her voice
+broke.  A cleverer man than Jimmy Challoner might have heard the little
+theatrical touch in the words, but Jimmy was too genuinely miserable
+himself to be critical.
+
+At the first sob he was on his feet.  He put his arms round her; he
+laid his cheek against her hair; but he did not kiss her.  Afterwards
+he wondered what instinct it was that kept him from kissing her.  He
+broke out into passionate protestations.
+
+"I can't give you up.  There must be some way out for us all.  You
+don't love him, and you do care for me.  It can't be true, it's--it's
+some abominable trick to part us, Cynthia."
+
+"It is true," she said again.  "It is true."
+
+She drew away from him.  She began to cry, carefully, so as not to
+spoil her make-up.  She hid her face in her hands.  Once she looked at
+him through her white fingers to see how he was taking it.  Jimmy
+Challoner was taking it very badly indeed.  He stood biting his lip
+hard.  His hands were clenched.
+
+"For God's sake don't cry," he broke out at length.  "It drives me mad
+to see you cry.  I'll find a way out.  We should have been so happy.  I
+can't give you up."
+
+He spoke incoherently and stammeringly.  He was really very much in
+love, and now the thought of separation was a burning glass, magnifying
+that love a thousandfold.
+
+There were voices outside.  Cynthia hastily dried her eyes.  She did
+not look as if she had been crying very bitterly.
+
+"That's my call.  I shall have to go.  Don't keep me now.  I'll write,
+Jimmy.  I'll see you again."
+
+"You promise me that, whatever happens?"
+
+"I promise."  He caught her fingers and kissed them.  "Darling, I'll
+come back for you when the show's over.  I can't bear to leave you like
+this.  You do love me?"
+
+"Do you need to ask?"
+
+The words were an evasion, but he did not notice it.  He went back to
+the stage box feeling as if the world had come to an end.
+
+He forgot all about the Wyatts in the stalls below.  Christine's brown
+eyes turned towards him again and again, but he never once looked her
+way.  His attention was centered on the stage and the woman who played
+there.
+
+She was so beautiful he could never give her up, he told himself
+passionately.  With each moment her charm seemed to grow.  He watched
+her with despairing eyes; life without her was a crude impossibility.
+He could not imagine existence in a world where he might not love her.
+That other fellow--curse the other fellow!--he ground his teeth in
+impotent rage.
+
+The brute had deserted her years ago and left her to starve.  He had
+not the smallest claim on her How.  By the time the play was ended
+Jimmy Challoner had worked himself into a white heat of rage and
+despair.
+
+Christine Wyatt, glancing once more towards him as the curtain rose for
+the final call, wondered a little at the tense, unyielding attitude of
+his tall figure.  He was standing staring at the stage as if for him
+there was nothing else in all the world.  She stifled a little sigh as
+she turned to put on her cloak.
+
+The house was still applauding and clamouring for Cynthia to show
+herself again.  Challoner waited.  He loved to see her come before the
+curtain--loved the little graceful way she bowed to her audience.
+
+But to-night he waited in vain, and when at last he pushed his way
+round to the stage door it was only to be told that Miss Farrow had
+left the theatre directly the play was over.
+
+Challoner's heart stood still for a moment.  She had done this
+deliberately to avoid him, he was sure.  He asked an agitated question.
+
+"Did she--did she go alone?"
+
+The doorkeeper answered without looking at him, "There was a gent with
+her, sir--Mr. Mortlake, I think."
+
+Challoner went out into the night blindly.  He had to pass the theatre
+to get back to the main street.  Mrs. Wyatt and Christine were just
+entering a taxi.  Christine saw him.  She touched his arm diffidently
+as he passed.
+
+"Jimmy!"
+
+Challoner pulled up short.  He would have avoided them had it been at
+all possible.
+
+Mortlake! she had gone with that brute, whilst he--he answered Mrs.
+Wyatt mechanically.
+
+"Thanks--thanks very much.  I was going to walk, but if you will be so
+kind as to give me a lift."
+
+He really hardly knew what he was saying.  He took off his hat and
+passed a hand dazedly across his forehead before he climbed into the
+taxi and found himself sitting beside Christine.
+
+He forced himself to try to make conversation.  "Well, and how did you
+enjoy the play?"
+
+It was a ghastly effort to talk.  He wondered if they would notice how
+strange his manner was.
+
+"Immensely," Mrs. Wyatt told him.  "I've heard so much about Cynthia
+Farrow, but never seen her before.  She certainly is splendid."
+
+"She's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," said Christine.
+
+Challoner shot her a grateful look.  Most women were cats and never had
+a word of praise for one of their own sex.  He felt slightly comforted.
+
+"If you've nothing better to do, Jimmy," said Mrs. Wyatt, "won't you
+come back to the hotel and have some supper with us?  We are only up in
+town for a fortnight.  Do come if you can."
+
+Challoner said he would be delighted.  He was very young in some ways.
+He had not the smallest intention of calling on Cynthia that night.  He
+wished savagely that she could know what he was doing; know that in
+spite of everything he was not breaking his heart for her.
+
+She was with that brute Mortlake; well, he was not going to spend the
+next hour or two alone with only his thoughts for company.
+
+He wondered where Cynthia had gone, and if she had known all along that
+Mortlake was calling for her.  He ground his teeth.
+
+The two women were talking together.  They did not seem to notice his
+silence.  Christine's voice reminded him a little of Cynthia's; a
+sudden revulsion of feeling flooded his heart.
+
+Poor darling! all this was not her fault.  No doubt she was just as
+miserable as he.  He longed to go to her.  He wished he had not
+accepted the Wyatts' invitation.  He felt that it was heartless of him
+to have done so.  He would have excused himself even now if the taxi
+had not already started.
+
+Mrs. Wyatt turned to him.  "I suppose you are very fond of theatres?"
+
+"Yes--no--yes, I mean; I go to heaps."  He wondered if his reply
+sounded very foolish and absent-minded.  He rushed on to cover it.
+"I've seen this particular play a dozen times; it's a great favourite
+of mine.  I--I'm very keen on it."
+
+"I think it is lovely," said Christine dreamily.
+
+She was leaning back beside him in the corner.  He could only see her
+white-gloved hands clasped in the lap of her frock.
+
+"You must let me take you to some," he said.  He had a rotten feeling
+that if he stopped talking for a minute he would make a fool of
+himself.  "I often get passes for first nights and things," he rambled
+on.
+
+Christine sat up.  "Do you! oh, how lovely!  I should love to go!
+Jimmy, do you--do you know any people on the stage--actors and
+actresses?"
+
+"I know some--yes.  I know quite a lot."
+
+"Not Miss Farrow, I suppose?" she questioned eagerly.
+
+"Yes--yes, I do," said Challoner.
+
+She gave a little cry of delight.  "Oh, I wish I could meet her--she's
+so beautiful."
+
+Challoner could not answer.  He would have given worlds had it been
+possible to stop the cab and rush away; but he knew he had got to go
+through with it now, and presently he found himself following Mrs.
+Wyatt and Christine through the hall of the hotel at which they were
+staying.
+
+"It's quite like old times, isn't it?" he said with an effort.  "Quite
+like the dear old days at Upton House.  Don't I wish we could have them
+again."
+
+"The house is still there," said Mrs. Wyatt laughing.  "Perhaps you
+will come down again some day."
+
+Challoner did not think it likely.  There would be something very
+painful in going back to the scene of those days, he thought.  He was
+so much changed from the light-hearted youngster who had chased
+Christine round the garden and pulled her hair because she would not
+kiss him.
+
+He looked at her with reminiscent eyes.  There was a little flush in
+her pale cheeks.  She looked more like the child-sweetheart he had so
+nearly forgotten.
+
+Mrs. Wyatt had moved away.  He and Christine were alone.  "I used to
+kiss you in those days, didn't I?" he asked, looking at her.  He felt
+miserable and reckless.
+
+She looked up at him with serious eyes.  "Yes," she said almost
+inaudibly.
+
+Something in her face stirred an old emotion in Jimmy Challoner's
+heart.  This girl had been his first love, and a man never really
+forgets his first love; he leaned nearer to her.
+
+"Christine, do you--do you wish we could have those days over again?"
+he asked.
+
+A little quiver crossed her face.  For a moment the beautiful brown
+eyes lit up radiantly.  For a moment she was something better than just
+merely pretty.
+
+He waited eagerly for her answer.  His pride, if nothing deeper, had
+been seriously wounded that night.  The tremulous happiness in this
+girl's face was like a gentle touch on a hurt.
+
+"Do you--do you wish it?" he asked again.
+
+"Yes," said Christine softly.  "Yes, if you do."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+JILTED!
+
+It was late when Jimmy got home to his rooms; he was horribly tired,
+and his head ached vilely, but he never slept a wink all night.
+
+The fact that Cynthia's husband was alive did not hurt him nearly so
+much as the fact that Cynthia had avoided him that evening and left the
+theatre with Mortlake.  Jimmy hated Mortlake.  The brute had such piles
+of money, whilst he--even the insufficient income which was always
+mortgaged weeks before the quarterly cheque fell due, only came to him
+from his brother.  At any moment the Great Horatio might cut up rough
+and stop supplies.
+
+Jimmy was up and dressed earlier than ever before in his life.  He went
+out and bought some of the most expensive roses he could find in the
+shops.  He took them himself to Cynthia Farrow's flat and scribbled a
+note begging her to see him if only for a moment.
+
+The answer came back verbally.  Miss Farrow sent her love and best
+thanks but she was very tired and her head ached--would he call again
+in the afternoon?
+
+Challoner turned away without answering.  There was a humiliating lump
+in his throat.  At that moment he was the most wretched man in the
+whole of London.  How on earth could he get through the whole infernal
+morning?  And was she always going to treat him like this in the
+future? refusing to see him--deliberately avoiding him.
+
+He wandered about the West End, staring into shop windows.  At twelve
+o'clock he was back again at his rooms.  A messenger boy was at the
+door when he reached it.  He held a letter which Challoner took from
+him.  It was from Cynthia Farrow.
+
+He tore it open anyhow.  His pulses throbbed with excitement.  She had
+relented, of course, and wanted to see him at once.  He was so sure of
+it that it was like a blow over the heart when he read the short note.
+
+
+DEAR JIMMY,--I am afraid you will be hurt at what I am going to say,
+but I am sure it is better for us not to meet again.  It only makes
+things harder for us both, and can do no good.  I ought to have said
+good-bye to you last night, only at the last moment I hadn't the
+courage.  If you really care for me you will keep away, and make no
+attempt to see me.  I can never marry you, and though we have had some
+very happy days together, I hope that you will forget me.  Please don't
+write, either; I really mean what I say, that this is good-bye.
+
+CYNTHIA.
+
+
+The messenger boy fidgeted uncomfortably, staring at Jimmy Challoner's
+white face.  Presently he ventured a question.  "Is there an answer,
+sir?"
+
+Challoner turned then, "No, no answer."
+
+He let himself into his rooms and shut the door.  He felt as if he were
+walking in space.  For the moment he was unconscious of any emotion.
+
+He walked over to the window and read the letter again.  The only thing
+about it that really struck him was its note of finality.
+
+This was no petulantly written dismissal.  She had thought it well out;
+she really meant it.
+
+He was jilted! The word stung him into life.  His face flamed.  A wave
+of passionate anger swept over him.  He was jilted!  The detestable
+thing for which he had always so deeply pitied other men of his
+acquaintance had happened to him.  He was no longer an engaged man, he
+was discarded, unwanted!
+
+For the moment he forgot the eloquent fact of Cynthia's marriage.  He
+only realised that she had thrown him aside--finished with him.
+
+And he had loved her so much.  He had never cared a hang for any other
+woman in all his life in comparison with the devotion he had poured at
+Cynthia's feet.
+
+He looked round the room with blank eyes.  He could not believe that he
+had not fallen asleep and dreamed it all.  His gaze was arrested by
+Cynthia's portrait on the shelf--it seemed to be watching him with
+smiling eyes.
+
+In sudden rage he crossed the room and snatched it up.  He stood for a
+second holding it in his hand as if not knowing what to do with it,
+then he dashed it down into the fireplace.  The glass splintered into
+hundreds of fragments.  Jimmy Challoner stood staring down at them with
+passionate eyes.  He hated her.  She was a flirt, a coquette without a
+heart.
+
+If he could only pay her out--only let her see how utterly indifferent
+he was.  If only there was some other woman who would be nice to him,
+and let him be nice to her, to make Cynthia jealous.
+
+He thought suddenly of Christine Wyatt, of the little flame in her
+brown eyes when last night he had reminded her of the old days at Upton
+House.  His vain man's heart had been stirred then.  She liked him at
+all events.
+
+Mrs. Wyatt had said that she hoped they would see much of him while
+they were in London.  If he chose, he knew that he could be with them
+all day and every day.  Cynthia would get to hear of it, Cynthia would
+know that he was not wearing the willow for her.  He would not even
+answer her letter.  He would just keep away--walk out of her life.
+
+For a moment a sort of desolation gripped him.  He had been so proud of
+her, thought so much of their future together; made such wonderful
+plans for getting round the Great Horatio; and now--it was all
+ended--done for!
+
+His careless face fell into haggard lines, but the next instant he got
+a fresh grip of himself.  He would show her, he would let her see that
+he was no weakling, no lovelorn swain pleading for denied favours.  He
+squared his shoulders.  He took up his hat and went into the street
+again.  He called a taxi and gave the address of the hotel where
+Christine and her mother were staying.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE TWO WOMEN
+
+Christine was just crossing the hall of the hotel when Jimmy Challoner
+entered it.  She saw him at once, and stood still with a little flush
+in her face.
+
+"I was just thinking about you," she said.  "I was just wondering if
+you would come and see us to-day; somehow I didn't think you would."
+
+She spoke very simply and unaffectedly.  She was genuinely pleased to
+see him, and saw no reason for hiding it.  "Have you had lunch?" she
+asked.  "Mother and I are just going to have ours."
+
+If he had given way to his own inclinations he would have gone without
+lunch--without everything.  He was utterly wretched.  The kindness of
+Christine's eyes brought a lump to his throat.  He did not want her to
+be kind to him.  She was not the woman he wanted at all.  Why, oh, why
+was he here when his heart was away--God alone knew where--with Cynthia!
+
+What was she doing? he was asking himself in an agony, even while he
+followed Christine across the hall to the dining-room; had she really
+meant him to accept that note of dismissal as final? or had it just
+been written in a moment of petulance?
+
+He had not meant to think about her; he had vowed to put her out of his
+thoughts for ever, to let her see that he would not wear the willow for
+her; and yet--oh, they were all very well, these fine resolves, but
+when a chap was utterly--confoundedly down and out----
+
+He found himself shaking hands with Christine's mother.
+
+"Jimmy hasn't had any lunch," Christine was saying.  "So I asked him to
+have some with us."
+
+Her voice sounded very gay; the little flush had not died out of her
+cheeks.
+
+"I am very pleased you have come," said Christine's mother.  She shook
+hands with Jimmy, and smiled at him with her mother-eyes.
+
+Jimmy wished they would not be so kind to him.  It made him feel a
+thousand times more miserable.
+
+When he began to eat he was surprised to find that he was really
+hungry.  A glass of wine cheered him considerably; he began to talk and
+make himself agreeable.  As a matter of course, they talked about the
+old days at Upton House; Jimmy began to remember things he had almost
+forgotten; there had been an old stable-loft----
+
+"Do you remember when you fell down the ladder?" Christine asked him
+laughingly.  "And the way you bumped your head----"
+
+"And the way you cried," Jimmy reminded her.
+
+"Didn't she, Mrs. Wyatt?"
+
+Mrs. Wyatt laughed.
+
+"Don't refer to me, please," she said.  "I am beginning to think that I
+never knew half what you two did in those days."
+
+Christine looked at Jimmy shyly.
+
+"They were lovely days," she said with a sigh.
+
+"Ripping!" Jimmy agreed.  He tried to put great enthusiasm into his
+voice, but in his heart he knew that he had long since outgrown the
+simple pleasures that had seemed so great to him then.  He thought of
+Cynthia, and the wild Bohemianism of the weeks that had passed since he
+first got engaged to her; that was life if you pleased, with a capital
+letter.  It seemed incredible that it was all ended and done with; that
+Cynthia wanted him no longer; that his place in her life was filled by
+another man; that he would never wait at the theatre for her any more;
+never----  He caught his breath on a great sigh.  Christine looked at
+him with her brown eyes.  She, at least, had never outgrown the old
+days; to her they would always be the most wonderful of her whole life.
+
+"And what are we going to do this afternoon?" Mrs. Wyatt asked when
+lunch was ended.
+
+"Anything you like," said Jimmy.  "I am entirely at your disposal."
+
+"Mother always likes a nap after lunch," said Christine laughing.  "She
+never will stir till she has had it."
+
+"Very well; then you and I will go off somewhere together," said Jimmy
+promptly.  "At least"--he looked apologetically at Mrs. Wyatt--"if we
+may?" he added.
+
+"I think I can trust you with Christine," said Christine's mother.
+"But you'll be in to tea?"
+
+Jimmy promised.  He did not really want to take Christine out.  He did
+not really want to do anything.  He talked to Mrs. Wyatt while
+Christine put on her hat and coat.  When they left the hotel he asked
+if she would like a taxi.
+
+Christine laughed.
+
+"Of course not.  I love walking."
+
+"Do you?" said Jimmy.  He was faintly surprised.  Cynthia would never
+walk a step if she could help it.  He pondered at the difference in the
+two women.
+
+They went to the Park.  It was a fine, sunny afternoon, cold and crisp.
+
+Christine wore soft brown furs, just the colour of her eyes, Jimmy
+Challoner thought, and realised that her eyes would be very beautiful
+to a man who liked dark eyes in preference to blue, but--thoughts of
+Cynthia came crowding back again.  If only he were with her instead of
+this girl; if only----  Christine touched his arm.
+
+"Oh, Jimmy, look!  Isn't that--isn't that Miss Farrow?"
+
+Her voice was excited.  She was looking eagerly across the grass to
+where a woman and a man were walking together beneath the trees.
+
+Jimmy's heart leapt to his throat; for a moment it seemed to stop
+beating.
+
+Yes, it was Cynthia right enough; Cynthia with no trace of the headache
+with which she had excused herself to him only that morning; Cynthia
+walking with--with Henson Mortlake.
+
+Christine spoke again, breathlessly.
+
+"Is it?  Oh, is it Miss Farrow, Jimmy?"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmy hoarsely.
+
+Cynthia had turned now.  She and the man at her side were walking back
+towards Jimmy and Christine.
+
+As they drew nearer Cynthia's eyes swept the eager face and slim figure
+of the girl at Jimmy's side.  There was the barest flicker of her lids
+before she raised them and smiled and bowed.
+
+Jimmy raised his hat.  He was very pale; his mouth was set in unsmiling
+lines.
+
+"Oh, she is lovely!" said Christine eagerly.  "I think she is even
+prettier off the stage than she is on, don't you?  Actresses so seldom
+are, but she--oh, don't you think she is beautiful, Jimmy?"
+
+"Yes," said Challoner.  He hated himself because he could get nothing
+out but that monosyllable; hated himself because of the storm of
+emotion the sight of Cynthia had roused in his heart.
+
+She had looked calm and serene enough; he wondered bitterly if she ever
+thought of the hours they had spent together, the times he had kissed
+her, the future they had planned.  He set his teeth hard.
+
+And apparently the fact that her husband still lived was no barrier to
+her walking with Mortlake.  He hated the little bounder.  He----
+
+"Who was that with her?" Christine asked.  "I didn't like the look of
+him very much.  I do hope she isn't going to marry him."
+
+"She's married already," said Jimmy.  He felt a sort of impatience with
+Christine; she was so--so childish, so--so immaturish, he thought.
+
+"And do you know her husband?" she asked.  She turned her beautiful
+eyes to his pale face.
+
+"I've never seen him," said Jimmy.  "But I should think he's a brute
+from what I've heard about him.  He--he--oh, he treated her rottenly."
+
+"What a shame!" Christine half turned and looked after Cynthia Farrow's
+retreating figure.  "Jimmy, wouldn't you be proud of such a beautiful
+wife?"
+
+Jimmy laughed, rather a mirthless laugh.
+
+"Penniless beggars like me don't marry beautiful wives like--like Miss
+Farrow," he said with a sort of savagery.  "They want men with pots and
+pots of money, who can buy them motor-cars and diamonds, and all the
+rest of it."  His voice was hurt and angry.  Christine looked puzzled.
+She walked on a little way silently.  Then:
+
+"I shouldn't mind how poor a man was if I loved him," she said.
+
+Jimmy looked down at her.  Her face was half-hidden by the soft brown
+fur she wore, but he could just get a glimpse of dark lashes against
+her pale cheek, and the dainty outline of forehead and cheek.
+
+"You won't always think that," he told her cynically.  "Some day, when
+you're older and wiser than you are now, you'll find yourself looking
+at the L. s. d. side of a man, Christine."
+
+"I never shall," she cried out indignantly.  "Jimmy, you are horrid!"
+
+But Jimmy Challoner did not smile.
+
+"Women are all the same," he told her darkly.
+
+Oh, he was very, very young indeed, was Jimmy Challoner!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+JIMMY GETS NEWS
+
+There was a letter from the "Great Horatio" on Jimmy's plate the
+following morning.  Jimmy looked at the handwriting and the foreign
+stamp and grimaced.
+
+The Great Horatio seldom wrote unless something were the matter.  He
+was a good many years older than Jimmy, and Jimmy held him in distinct
+awe.
+
+He finished his breakfast before he even thought of breaking the seal,
+then he took up the letter and carried it over with him to the fire.
+
+Jimmy Challoner was breakfasting in his dressing-gown.  It was very
+seldom that he managed to get entirely dressed by the time breakfast
+was ready.  He sat down now in a big chair and stuck his slippered feet
+out to the warmth.
+
+He turned his brother's letter over and over distastefully.  What the
+deuce did the old chap want now? he wondered.  He gave a sigh of
+resignation, and broke open the flap.
+
+He and the Great Horatio had not met for two years.
+
+Horatio Ferdinand Challoner, to give him his full name, was a man whose
+health, or, rather, ill-health, was his hobby.
+
+All his life he had firmly believed himself to be in a dying state; all
+his life he had lived more or less at Spas, or on the Riviera, or at
+health resorts of some kind or another.
+
+He was a nervous, irritable man, as unlike Jimmy as it is possible for
+two brothers to be.
+
+For the past two years he had been living in Australia.  He had
+undertaken the voyage at the suggestion of some new doctor whose advice
+he had sought, and he had been so ill during the six weeks' voyage
+that, so far, he had never been able to summon sufficient pluck to
+start home again.
+
+Jimmy had roared with laughter when he heard; he could so well imagine
+his brother's disgust and fear.  As a matter of fact, it suited Jimmy
+very well that the head of the family should be so far removed from
+him.  He hated supervision; he liked to feel that he had got a free
+hand; that he need not go in fear of running up against Horatio
+Ferdinand at every street corner.
+
+He read his brother's closely written pages now with a long-suffering
+air.  Jimmy hated writing letters, and he hated receiving them; most
+things bored him in these days; he had been drifting for so long, and
+under Cynthia Farrow's tuition he would very likely have finally
+drifted altogether into a slack, nothing-to-do man about town, very
+little good to himself or anyone else.
+
+Horatio Ferdinand wrote:--
+
+
+DEAR JAMES,-- (He hated abbreviations; he would never allow people to
+call him "Horace"; his writing was cramped and formal like himself.)  I
+have heard a rather disquieting rumour about you from a mutual friend,
+and shall be glad if you will kindly write to me upon receipt of this
+letter and inform me if there is any truth in the allegation that you
+are constantly seen in the company of a certain actress.  I hardly
+think this can be so, as you well know my dislike of the stage and
+anything appertaining thereto.  My health is greatly improved by my
+visit here, and all being well I shall probably risk making the return
+voyage after Christmas.  Upon second consideration, I shall be glad if
+you will cable your reply to me, as the mail takes six weeks, as you
+know.--Your affectionate brother.
+
+
+Jimmy crushed the letter in his hand.
+
+"Damned old idiot!" he said under his breath.  He got up, and began
+striding about the room angrily.  The tassels of his dressing-gown
+swung wildly at each agitated step; the big carpet slippers he wore
+flapped ungracefully.
+
+"Confounded old fathead."
+
+Jimmy was flushed, and his eyes sparkled.  He ran his fingers through
+his hair, making it stand on end.  After a few strides he felt better.
+He went back to the armchair and took up his brother's letter once more.
+
+After a moment he laughed, rather a sore laugh, as if something in the
+stilted wording of the letter hurt him.
+
+What would he not have given now to be able to cable back:
+
+"Quite right; she is my wife."
+
+But as it was----
+
+"Let him think what he likes.  I don't care a hang," was the thought in
+Jimmy Challoner's mind.
+
+He sat there with his chin drooping on his breast, lost in unhappy
+thought.
+
+It was not yet two days since Cynthia had sent him away; it seemed an
+eternity.
+
+Did she miss him at all? did she ever wish she could see him? ever wish
+for one hour out of the happy past?  Somehow he did not think so.  Much
+as he had loved her, Jimmy Challoner had always known hers to be the
+sort of nature that lived solely for the present; besides, if she
+wanted him, she had only got to send--to telephone.  He looked across
+at the receiver standing idle on his desk.
+
+So many times she had rung him up; so many times he had heard her
+pretty voice across the wire:
+
+"Is that you, Jimmy boy?"
+
+He would never hear it again.  She did not want him any more.  He
+was--ugly word--jilted!
+
+Jimmy writhed in his chair.  That any woman should dare to so treat
+him!  The hot blood surged into his face.
+
+It was a good sign--this sudden anger--had he but known it.  When a man
+can be angry with a woman he has once loved he is already beginning to
+love her less; already beginning to see her as less perfect.
+
+Some one tapped at his door; his man entered.
+
+Costin was another bone of contention between Jimmy and the Great
+Horatio.
+
+"I never had a valet when I was your age," so his brother declared.
+"What in the wide world you need a valet for is past my comprehension."
+
+Jimmy had felt strongly inclined to answer that most things were past
+his comprehension, but thought better of it; he could not, at any rate,
+imagine his life without Costin.  He knew in his heart that he had no
+least intention of sacking Costin, and Costin stayed.
+
+"If you please, sir," he began now, coming forward, "Mr. Sangster would
+like to see you."
+
+"Show him up," said Jimmy.  He rose to his feet and stood gnawing his
+lower lip agitatedly.
+
+How much did Sangster know, he wondered, about Cynthia?  He would have
+liked to refuse to see him, but--well, they would have to meet sooner
+or later, and, after all, Sangster had been a good friend to him in
+more ways than one.
+
+Jimmy said: "Hallo, old chap!" with rather forced affability when
+Sangster entered.  The two men shook hands.
+
+Sangster glanced at the breakfast-table.
+
+"I'm rather an early visitor, eh?"
+
+"No.  Oh, no.  Sit down.  Have a cigarette?"
+
+"No, thanks."
+
+There was little silence.  Jimmy eyed his friend with a sort of
+suspicion.  Sangster had heard something.  Sangster probably knew all
+there was to know.  He shuffled his feet nervously.
+
+Sangster was the sort of man at whom a woman like Cynthia Farrow would
+never have given a second glance, if, indeed, she thought him worthy of
+a first.  He was short and squarely built; his hair was undeniably red
+and ragged; his features were blunt, but he had a nice smile, and his
+small, nondescript eyes were kind.
+
+He sat down in the chair Jimmy had vacated and looked up at him
+quizzically.
+
+"Well," he said bluntly, "is it true?"
+
+Jimmy flushed.
+
+"True! what the----"
+
+The other man stopped him with a gesture.
+
+"Don't be an ass, Jimmy; I haven't known you all these years for
+nothing. . . .  Is it true that Cynthia's chucked you?"
+
+"Yes."  Jimmy's voice was hard.  He stared up at the ceiling under
+scowling brows.
+
+Sangster said "Humph!" with a sort of growl.  He scratched his chin
+reflectively.
+
+"Well, I can't say I'm sorry," he said after a moment.  "It's the best
+thing that's ever happened to you, my son."
+
+Jimmy's eyes travelled down from the ceiling slowly; perhaps it was
+coincidence that they rested on the place on the mantelshelf where
+Cynthia's portrait used to stand.
+
+"Think so?" he said gruffly.  "You never liked her."
+
+"I did--but not as your wife. . . .  She's much more suited to Henson
+Mortlake--I always thought so.  He'll keep her in order; you never
+could have done."
+
+Jimmy had been standing with his elbow on the mantelpiece; he swung
+round sharply.
+
+"Mortlake; what's he got to do with it?" he asked fiercely.  "What the
+deuce do you mean by dragging him in?  It was nothing to do with
+Mortlake that she--she----"
+
+Sangster was looking at him curiously.
+
+"Oh!  I understood--what was the reason, then?" he asked.
+
+Jimmy turned away.  He found the other man's eyes somehow disconcerting.
+
+"She's married already," he said in a stifled voice.  "I--I always knew
+she had been married, of course.  She made no secret of it.  He--the
+brute--left her years ago; but last week--well, he turned up
+again. . . .  She--we--we had always believed he was dead."
+
+There was a little silence.  Sangster was no longer looking at Jimmy;
+he was staring into the fire.  Presently he began to whistle softly.
+Jimmy rounded on him.
+
+"Oh, shut up!" he said irritably.
+
+Sangster stopped at once.  After a moment:
+
+"And the--er--husband!" he submitted dryly.  "You've--you've seen him,
+of course."
+
+"No, I haven't.  If I did--if I did, I'd break every bone in his
+infernal carcase," said Jimmy Challoner, between his teeth.
+
+He stared down at his friend with defiant, eyes as he spoke.
+
+Sangster said "Humph!" again.  Then: "Well, there's as good fish in the
+sea as any that were caught," he said cheerily.  "Look at it
+philosophically, old son."
+
+Jimmy kicked a footstool out of his way.  He walked over to the window,
+and stood for a moment with his back turned.  Presently:
+
+"If anyone asks you, you might as well tell them the truth," he said
+jerkily.  "I--don't let them think that brute Mortlake----"
+
+He broke off.
+
+"I'll tell 'em the truth," said Sangster.
+
+He leaned over the fire, poking it vigorously.
+
+"What are you doing to-night, Jimmy?" he asked, "I'm at a loose end----"
+
+Jimmy turned.
+
+"I'm taking some people to the theatre--old friends!  Met them quite by
+chance the other night.  Haven't you heard me speak of them--the
+Wyatts?"
+
+"By Jove, yes!"  Sangster dropped the poker unceremoniously.  "People
+from Upton House.  You used to be full of them when I first knew you,
+and that's how many years ago, Jimmy?"
+
+"The Lord only knows!" said Jimmy dispiritedly.  "Well, I've got a box
+for a show to-night, and asked them to come.  Christine's dead nuts on
+theatres.  Remember Christine?"
+
+"I remember the name.  Old sweetheart of yours, wasn't she?"
+
+"When we were kids."
+
+"Oh, like that, is it?  Well, ask me to come along too."
+
+"My dear fellow--come by all means."
+
+Jimmy was rather pleased at the suggestion.  "You'll like Mrs.
+Wyatt--she's one of the best."
+
+"And--Christine?"
+
+"Oh she's all right; but she's only a child still," said Jimmy
+Challoner with all the lordly superiority of half a dozen years.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+SANGSTER TAKES A HAND
+
+"And so you and Jimmy were children together," said Arthur Sangster.
+
+The curtain had just fallen on the first act, and the lights turned up
+suddenly in the theatre had revealed Christine's face to him a little
+flushed and dreamy.
+
+Sangster looked at her smilingly.  Jimmy had called her a child; but he
+had not said how sweet a child she was, he thought, as his eyes rested
+on her dainty profile and parted lips.
+
+She seemed to wake from dreaming at the sound of his voice.  She gave a
+little sigh, and leaned back in her chair.
+
+"Yes," she said.  "We used to play together when we were children."
+
+"Such a long, long time ago," said Sangster, half mockingly, half in
+earnest.
+
+She nodded seriously.
+
+"It seems ages and ages," she said.  She looked past him to where Jimmy
+sat talking to her mother.  He might have sat next to her, she thought
+wistfully.  Mr. Sangster was very nice, but--she caught a little sigh
+between her lips.
+
+"Jimmy has told me so much about you," Sangster said.  "I almost feel
+as if I have known you for years."
+
+"Has he?"  That pleased her, at all events.  Her brown eyes shone as
+she looked at him.  "What did he tell you?" she asked, interestedly.
+
+Sangster laughed.
+
+"Oh, all about Upton House, and the fine time you used to have there;
+all about the dogs, and an old horse named Judas."
+
+She laughed too, now.
+
+"Judas--he died last year.  He was so old, and nearly blind; but he
+always knew my step and came to the gate."  Her voice sounded wistful.
+"Jimmy used to ride him round the field, standing up on his back," she
+went on eagerly.  "Jimmy could ride anything."
+
+"Jimmy is a very wonderful person," said Sangster gravely.
+
+She looked rather puzzled.
+
+"Do you mean that?" she asked.  "Or are you--are you joking?"
+
+He felt suddenly ashamed.
+
+"I mean it, of course," he said gently.  "I am very fond of Jimmy,
+though I haven't known him as long as you have."
+
+"How long?" she asked.
+
+He made a little calculation.
+
+"Well, it must be five years," he said at length.  "Or perhaps it is
+six; the time goes so quickly, I lose count."
+
+"And do you live in London too?"
+
+"Yes; I live in an unfashionable part of Bloomsbury."
+
+"Near Jimmy?"
+
+"No; Jimmy lives in the Temple."
+
+"Oh."
+
+It evidently conveyed nothing to her.
+
+"And do you know his brother--the great Horatio?" she asked laughingly.
+
+"I had the honour of meeting him once," he answered with mock gravity.
+
+"So did I--years ago.  Isn't he funny?"
+
+"Very."  Sangster agreed.  He thought it a very mild word with which to
+describe Horatio Ferdinand; he pitied Jimmy supremely for having to own
+such a relative.  The stage bell rang through the theatre, the curtain
+began to swing slowly up.
+
+"We went to see Cynthia Farrow the other night," Christine said.
+"Isn't she lovely?"
+
+"I suppose she is!"
+
+"Suppose! I think she's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,"
+Christine declared vehemently.  "Jimmy knows her, he says."  She turned
+her head.  "Do you know her too?"
+
+"Yes--slightly."
+
+"You don't sound as if you like her," she said quickly.
+
+He laughed in spite of himself.
+
+"Perhaps because she doesn't like me," he answered.
+
+"Doesn't she?"  Christine's grave eyes searched his face.  "I like you,
+anyway," she said.
+
+Sangster did not look at her, but a little flush rose to his brow.
+
+"Thank you," he said, and his voice sounded, somehow, quite changed.
+
+As the curtain fell on the second act, he rose quietly from his seat
+and went round to where Jimmy stood.
+
+"Take my place," he said in an undertone.  Jimmy looked up.  He had not
+been following the play; he had been thinking--thinking always of the
+same thing, always of the past few weeks, and the shock of their ending.
+
+He rose to his feet rather reluctantly.  Sangster sat down beside Mrs.
+Wyatt.
+
+Once or twice he looked across to Christine.  She and Jimmy were not
+talking very much, but there was a little smile on Christine's face,
+and she looked at Jimmy very often.
+
+Jimmy sat with his chin in the palm of his hand, staring before him
+with moody eyes.  Sangster felt a sort of impatience.  What the deuce
+could the fellow ever have seen in Cynthia Farrow? he asked himself.
+Was he blind, that he could not penetrate her shallowness, and see the
+small selfishness of her nature?
+
+A pretty face and laugh, and an undoubted knowledge of men--they were
+all the assets she possessed; and Sangster knew it.  But to
+Jimmy--Sangster metaphorically shrugged his shoulders as he looked at
+his friend's moody face.
+
+How could he sit there next to that child and not realise that in his
+longing he was only grasping at a shadow?  What was he made of that he
+saw more beauty in Cynthia Farrow's blue eyes than in the sweet face of
+his boyhood's love?
+
+Sangster was glad when the play was over; theatres always bored him.
+He did not quite know why he had invited himself to Jimmy's box
+to-night.  When they rose to leave he smiled indulgently at Christine's
+rapt face.
+
+"You have enjoyed it," he said.
+
+"Yes--ever so much.  But I liked Miss Farrow and the play she was in
+better."
+
+Jimmy turned sharply away; nobody answered.
+
+"We're going on to Marnio's to supper," Jimmy said as they crossed the
+foyer.  "Christine has never been there."
+
+She looked up instantly.
+
+"No, I haven't."
+
+"It's the place to see stage favourites," Sangster told her.
+
+In his heart he was surprised that Jimmy should choose to go there.  He
+thought it extremely probable that Cynthia Farrow and some of her
+numerous admirers would put in an appearance; but it was not his
+business, and he raised no objection.
+
+When they entered the long room he cast a swift glance round.  She was
+not here yet, at all events; one could only hope that she would not
+come at all.
+
+Everything was new and wonderful to Christine.  She was like a child in
+her delight.  She sat in a corner of one of the great, softly cushioned
+sofas, and looked about her with wide eyes.
+
+Jimmy sat beside her.  Sangster had manoeuvred that he should.  He and
+Mrs. Wyatt were opposite.
+
+The orchestra was playing a dreamy waltz.  The long room was
+brilliantly lit, and decorated with pink flowers.
+
+Christine leaned across and squeezed her mother's hand.
+
+"Oh, isn't it just too lovely?" she said.
+
+Mrs. Wyatt laughed.
+
+"You will turn Christine's head, Jimmy," she said to Challoner.  "She
+will find Upton House dull after all this gaiety."
+
+Jimmy was slightly bored.  It was no novelty to him.  He had spent so
+many nights dining and supping in similar places to Marnio's.  All the
+waiters knew him.  He wondered if they were surprised to see him
+without Cynthia Farrow.  For weeks past he and she had been everywhere
+together.  He met Sangster's quizzical eyes; he roused himself with an
+effort; he turned to Christine and began to talk.
+
+He told her who some of the people were at the other tables.  He
+pointed out a famous conductor, and London's most popular comedian.
+Christine was interested in everyone and everything.  Her eyes
+sparkled, and her usually pale face was flushed.  She was pretty
+to-night, if she had never been pretty before.
+
+"I suppose you come here often?" she said.  She looked up into Jimmy's
+bored young face.  "I suppose it's not at all new or wonderful to you?"
+
+He smiled.
+
+"Well, I'm afraid it isn't; you see----"  He broke off; he sat staring
+across the room with a sudden fire in his eyes.
+
+A man and woman had just entered.  The woman was in evening dress, with
+a beautiful sable coat.  Her hand was resting on the man's arm.  She
+was looking up at him with smiling eyes.
+
+Jimmy caught his breath hard in his throat.  For a moment the gaily lit
+room swam before him--for the woman was Cynthia Farrow, and the man at
+her side was Henson Mortlake.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+JIMMY DEMANDS THE TRUTH
+
+Sangster had been sitting with his back to the door by which Cynthia
+and her escort had entered.  When he saw the sudden change in Jimmy
+Challoner's face, he turned in his chair quickly.
+
+Cynthia was seated now.  She was languidly drawing off her long white
+gloves.  A waiter had taken her sable coat; without it the elaborate
+frock she wore looked too showy; it was cut too low in the neck.  A
+diamond necklace glittered on her white throat.
+
+Sangster turned back again.  Under cover of the table he gave Jimmy a
+kick.  He saw that Christine had noticed the sudden change in his face.
+To hide his friend's discomfort he rushed into speech.  He tried to
+distract the girl's attention; presently Jimmy recovered himself.
+
+Mrs. Wyatt alone had not been conscious of any disturbing element.
+
+She had lived all her life in the country, and her few visits to London
+had been exceedingly brief, and always conducted on the most severe of
+lines--a dull, highly respectable hotel to stay in, stalls for plays
+against which no single newspaper had raised a dissentient voice, and
+perhaps a visit to a museum or picture gallery.
+
+It had only been under protest that she had consented to visit the
+suburban theatre at which Cynthia Farrow was playing.
+
+Under the guidance of Jimmy Challoner, London had suddenly been
+presented to her in an entirely fresh light.  Secretly she was
+thoroughly enjoying herself, though once or twice she looked at
+Christine with rather wistful eyes.
+
+Christine was so wrapped up in Jimmy . . . and Jimmy!--of course, he
+must know many, many other women far more attractive and beautiful than
+this little daughter of hers.  She half sighed as she caught the
+expression of Christine's eyes as they rested on him.
+
+Suddenly Jimmy rose.
+
+"Will you excuse me a moment? . . .  There is a friend of mine over
+there. . . .  Please excuse me."
+
+Sangster scowled.  He thought Jimmy was behaving like a weak fool.  He
+would have stopped him had it been at all possible; but Jimmy had
+already left the table and crossed to where Cynthia was sitting.
+
+The sight of her in Mortlake's company for the second time that day had
+scattered his fine resolutions to the winds.  There was a raging fire
+of jealousy in his heart as he went up to her.
+
+A waiter was filling her glass with champagne, Mortlake was whispering
+to her confidentially across the corner of the table.
+
+"Good evening," said Jimmy Challoner.
+
+He did his best to control his voice, but in spite of himself a little
+thrill of rage vibrated through it.
+
+Mortlake raised himself and half frowned.
+
+"Evening," he said shortly.
+
+Cynthia extended her hand; she was rather pleased than otherwise to see
+him.  She liked having two strings to her bow; it gave her worldly
+heart an odd little pang as she met the fierceness of Jimmy's
+eyes. . . .  He was such a dear, she thought.
+
+Marnio's was not a place where he could make a scene either, even
+supposing . . . she shot a quick glance at Mortlake.  After all, it was
+rather unfortunate Jimmy should have seen them together--just at
+present, at any rate; it would not have mattered in a week or two's
+time.  She wondered if he had heard anything, if already he had
+discovered by some unforeseen means how she had lied to him? . . .  She
+gave him one of the sweetest smiles.
+
+"Are you having supper here, Jimmy?  I didn't see you."
+
+It was not the truth.  She had seen him the moment she entered, but she
+thought it more effective to pretend otherwise.
+
+"I am over there with friends," said Jimmy curtly.  He glanced across
+to the table he had just left, and met Christine's eyes.
+
+Somehow he felt uncomfortable.  He looked sharply away again, and down
+at the beautiful smiling face raised to his.
+
+"When may I come and see you?" he asked bluntly.
+
+He spoke quite distinctly; Mortlake must have heard every word.
+
+Cynthia looked nonplussed for a moment; then she laughed.
+
+"Come any time you like, my dear boy. . . .  I am always pleased to see
+you--any afternoon, you know."
+
+She smiled and nodded.  Jimmy felt that he had been dismissed.  After a
+moment he walked away.
+
+His heart was a dead weight in his breast.  He sat down again beside
+Christine.  She turned to him eagerly.
+
+"Wasn't that Miss Farrow? . . . .  Oh, Jimmy, why didn't you tell me?"
+
+Jimmy drained his wineglass before answering.
+
+"I forgot you were interested; I'm sorry. . . .  She isn't alone, you
+see, or--or I would introduce her--if you cared for me to, that is."
+
+"I don't think Miss Wyatt would care for Miss Farrow," said Arthur
+Sangster quietly.
+
+Jimmy looked furious.  Angry words rushed to his lips, but he choked
+them with an effort.
+
+"Narrow-minded old owl!" he said, half jokingly, half in earnest.
+
+Later, when the two men had left Mrs. Wyatt and Christine at their
+hotel, and were walking away together, Jimmy burst out savagely:
+
+"What the devil do you mean about Christine not liking Cynthia? . . .
+It's a gross piece of impertinence to say such a thing."
+
+"It's the truth, all the same," said Sangster imperturbably.  "The two
+girls are as different as chalk from cheese.  Miss Wyatt would soon
+dislike Cynthia--they live in different worlds."
+
+"Fortunately for Cynthia perhaps," said Jimmy savagely.  "For pure,
+ghastly dullness, recommend me to what is called the 'best
+society' . . . .  Christine is only a child--she always will be as long
+as she is tied to her mother's apron-strings.  I like Mrs. Wyatt
+awfully, but you must admit that we've had a distinctly dull evening."
+
+There was a moment's silence.
+
+"If you really think that," said Sangster quietly, "I should keep away
+from them, and I should most certainly give up paying attention to Miss
+Wyatt."
+
+Jimmy Challoner stopped dead.  He turned and stared at his friend.
+
+"What the devil are you talking about?" he demanded.  His face looked
+furious in the yellow light of a street lamp they were passing.  "I pay
+attention to Christine!  Why"--he laughed suddenly--"She's only a
+child."
+
+"Very well, you know your own business best, of course; and Jimmy----"
+
+"Well?"--ungraciously.
+
+Sangster hesitated; finally:
+
+"Did--did Cynthia say anything to you to-night?--anything special, I
+mean?"
+
+Jimmy laughed drearily.
+
+"She said it was cold, or something equally interesting.  She also said
+that I might call upon her any afternoon, and that she was always
+pleased to see her 'friends.'"  He accented the last word bitterly.
+"What did you expect her to say to me?" he inquired.
+
+"Nothing; at least . . . you know what they are saying in the clubs?"
+
+"What are they saying?"
+
+"That she is engaged to Mortlake."
+
+Through the darkness he heard Jimmy catch his breath hard in his throat.
+
+"Of course, that may be only club talk," he hastened to add kindly.
+
+"I never thought it could be anything else," said Jimmy with a rush.
+"I know it's a lie, anyway.  How can she be engaged to Mortlake, or any
+other man--if her husband is living?"
+
+"No," Sangster agreed quietly.  "She certainly cannot be engaged to any
+other man if her husband is still living."
+
+There was an underlying meaning in his voice.  Jimmy swung round
+savagely.
+
+"What are you trying to get at?" he asked.  "If you know anything, tell
+me and have done with it."
+
+"I don't know anything; I am only repeating what I have heard."
+
+"A pack of gossiping old women"--savagely.
+
+They walked a few steps silently.
+
+"Why not forget her, Jimmy?" said Sangster presently.  "She isn't the
+only woman in the world.  Put her out of your life once and for all."
+
+"It's all very fine for you to talk . . . things are not forgotten so
+quickly.  She's done with me--I told you so--and . . . oh, why the
+devil can't you mind your own business?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+LOVE AND POVERTY
+
+But in spite of his fine sounding words, Jimmy had not done with her,
+and the next afternoon--having shaken off Sangster, who looked in to
+suggest a stroll--he went round to Cynthia Farrow's flat.
+
+She was not alone; half a dozen theatrical people, most of whom Jimmy
+knew personally, were lounging about her luxuriously furnished boudoir.
+They were all cheery people, whom Jimmy liked well enough as a general
+thing, but to-day their chatter bored him; he hardly knew how to
+contain himself for impatience.  He made up his mind that he would stay
+as long, and longer than they did--that wild horses should not drag him
+away till he had spoken with Cynthia alone.
+
+She was very kind to him.  It might have struck a disinterested
+observer that she was a little afraid of him--a little anxious to
+propitiate him; but none of these things crossed Jimmy's mind.
+
+He adored her, and she knew it; he would do anything in the world for
+her, and she must know that too.  Why, then, should she be in the very
+least afraid of him?
+
+He found himself talking to an elderly woman with dyed hair, who had
+once been a famous dancer.  She was pleasant enough company, but she
+had not yet realised that her youth was a thing of the past.  She ogled
+Jimmy as if she had been eighteen, and simpered and giggled like a girl.
+
+She was the last of them all to leave.  It struck Jimmy that Cynthia
+had purposely asked her to stay, but he could not be sure.  Anyway, it
+did not matter to him.  He meant to stay there all night or until he
+had spoken with her alone.
+
+As soon as the door had closed on the rustling skirts of the dancer's
+juvenile frock, Jimmy rushed over to where Cynthia was sitting.
+
+She was smoking a cigarette.  She threw it pettishly into the fire as
+he dropped on his knees beside her.
+
+"Cynthia," said Jimmy Challoner hoarsely, "aren't you--aren't you just
+a little bit pleased to see me?"  It was a very boyish appeal;
+Cynthia's face softened before it.  She laid a hand for a moment on his
+shoulder.
+
+"I am always pleased to see you, Jimmy; you know that.  I hope we shall
+always be friends, even though--even though----"
+
+Jimmy caught her hand and covered it with kisses.
+
+"Darling!"
+
+She moved restlessly.
+
+"Jimmy, you're such a boy."  There was a hint of impatience now in her
+voice.  "Aren't you ever going to grow up?"
+
+He rose to his feet and moved away from her, The momentary flash of
+happiness had fallen from him; he felt very old and miserable as he
+stood leaning his elbow on the mantelshelf staring down at the fire.
+She no longer cared for him; something in her voice told him that as no
+actual words would have done.  She had not wanted him to come here
+to-day.  Even now she wished that he would go away and leave her.  He
+suddenly remembered what Sangster had said last night.  He turned
+abruptly, looking down at Cynthia.
+
+She was sitting up now, looking before her with puckered brows.  One
+small foot tapped the floor impatiently.
+
+Jimmy moved nearer to her.
+
+"Do you know what they are saying in the clubs?" he demanded.
+
+She raised her eyes, she shrugged her slim shoulders.
+
+"They are always saying something!  What is it now?"
+
+But her voice was not so indifferent as she would have had it; her eyes
+were anxious.
+
+"They are saying that you are engaged to Mortlake."
+
+Jimmy's eyes never left her face; it was a tragic moment for him.
+Cynthia's white hands clasped each other nervously.
+
+"Are they?" she said.  "How--how very amusing."
+
+Her eyes had fallen now; he could only see the outline of darkened
+lashes against her cheek.
+
+He waited a moment, then he strode forward--he covered the space
+between them in a stride; he put a hand beneath her chin, forcing her
+to look at him.
+
+"Is it true?" he asked.  "Is it true?"
+
+His voice was strangled; his breath came tearing from between clenched
+teeth.
+
+Cynthia shivered away from him, back against the pile of silken
+cushions behind her.
+
+"Don't hurt me, Jimmy; don't hurt me," she whimpered.
+
+He took her by the shoulders and shook her.  "_Is it true--is it true?_"
+
+For a moment he thought she was going to refuse to answer; then
+suddenly she dragged herself free.  She started up, and stood facing
+him pantingly.
+
+"_Yes_," she said defiantly.  "_Yes, it is true_."
+
+And then the silence fell again, long and unbroken.
+
+It seemed an eternity to Jimmy Challoner; an eternity during which he
+stood there like a man in a dream, staring at her flushed face.
+
+The world had surely come crashing about him in ruins; for the moment,
+at least, he was blind and deaf to everything.
+
+When at last he could find his voice--
+
+"It was all--a lie then--about your--husband!--a lie--to--to get rid of
+me."
+
+"If you like to put it that way."
+
+Jimmy turned blindly to the door.  He felt like a drunken man.  He had
+opened it when she called his name; when she followed and caught his
+hand, holding him back.
+
+"Jimmy, don't go like that--not without saying good-bye.  We've been
+such friends--we've had such good times together."
+
+She was sobbing now; genuine enough sobs they seemed.  She clung to him
+desperately.
+
+"I always loved you; you must have known that I did, only--only----
+Oh, I couldn't bear to be poor!  That was it, Jimmy.  I couldn't face
+being poor."
+
+Jimmy stood like a statue.  One might almost have thought he had not
+been listening.  Then suddenly he wrenched his hand free.
+
+"Let me go, for God's sake--let me go!"
+
+He left her there, sobbing and calling his name.
+
+She heard him go down the stairs--heard the sullen slam of a distant
+door; then she rushed over to the window.
+
+It was too dark to see him as he strode away from the house; everything
+seemed horribly silent and empty.
+
+Jimmy had gone; and Cynthia Farrow knew, as she stood there in the
+disordered room, that by sending him away she had made the greatest
+mistake of her selfish life.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE SECOND ENGAGEMENT
+
+Out in the night Jimmy Challoner stood for a moment in the darkness,
+not knowing where to go or what to do.
+
+He had had a bad shock.  He could have borne it if she had only thrown
+him over for that other man; but that she should have thought it worth
+while to lie to him about it struck him to the soul.  She had made a
+fool of him--an utter and complete fool; he would never forgive her as
+long as he lived.
+
+After a moment he walked on.  He carried his hat in his hand.  The cool
+night air fanned his hot forehead.
+
+He had lost everything that had made life worth living; that was his
+first passionate thought.  Nobody wanted him--nobody cared a hang what
+became of him; he told himself that he could quite understand poor
+devils who jumped off bridges.
+
+He went into the first restaurant he came to, and ordered a neat
+brandy; that made him feel better, and he ordered a second on the
+strength of it.  The first shock had passed; anger took its place.
+
+He would never forgive her; all his life he would never forgive her;
+she was not worth a thought.  She had never been worth loving.
+
+She was a heartless, scheming woman; little Christine Wyatt had more
+affection in the clasp of her hand than Cynthia had in the whole of her
+beautiful body.
+
+The thought of Christine recalled Sangster's words.
+
+Sangster was a fool; he did not know what he was talking about.
+Christine and he had been sweethearts as children certainly, but that
+anything more could ever exist between them was absurd.
+
+But he began to remember the little flush that always crept into
+Christine's face when she saw him, the expression of her beautiful
+eyes; and the memory gave him back some of his lost self-confidence.
+Christine liked him, at all events; Christine would never have behaved
+as Cynthia had done . . . Christine. . . .  Jimmy Challoner hailed a
+passing taxi, and gave the address of the hotel where Christine and her
+mother were staying.
+
+His desire for sympathy drove him there; his desire to be with someone
+who liked his company.  He was bruised all over by the treatment he had
+received from Cynthia Farrow; he wanted balm poured on his wounds.
+
+The hall porter told him that Mrs. Wyatt was out, but that he thought
+the young lady----
+
+"It's Miss Wyatt I wish to see," said Jimmy impatiently.
+
+After a moment he was asked to come upstairs.  He knew the Wyatts had a
+private sitting-room.  Christine was there by the fire when he entered.
+
+"Jimmy," she said eagerly.
+
+Jimmy Challoner went forward with outstretched hand.
+
+"I hope you don't mind my coming again so soon; but I was
+bored--thoroughly fed-up," he explained stumblingly.
+
+Christine looked radiant.  She had not yet learned to disguise her true
+feelings.  Jimmy was still holding her hand; she tried gently to free
+it.
+
+"Don't--don't take it away," said Jimmy.  The double dose of brandy and
+his own agitation had excited him; he drew her over to the fire with
+him; he hardly knew what he was doing.
+
+Suddenly: "Will you marry me, Christine?" he said.
+
+There was a sharp silence.
+
+Christine's little face had grown as white as death; her soft brown
+eyes were almost tragic.
+
+"Marry you!"  She echoed his words in a whisper.  "Marry you," she said
+again.  "Oh, Jimmy!"  She caught her breath in something like a sob.
+"But--but you don't love me," she said in a pitiful whisper.
+
+Jimmy lost his head.
+
+"I do love you," he declared.  "I love you most awfully . . .  Say yes,
+Christine--say yes.  We'll be ever so happy, you and I; we always got
+on rippingly, didn't we?"
+
+Nobody had ever made love to Christine before, since the days when
+Jimmy Challoner had chased her round the garden for kisses, and she had
+always loved him.  She felt giddy with happiness.  This was a moment
+she had longed for ever since that night in the suburban theatre when
+she had looked up into the stage box and seen him sitting there.
+
+Jimmy had got his arm round her now; he put his hot cheek to her soft
+hair.
+
+"Say yes, Christine," he whispered; but he did not wait for her to say
+it.  He could be very masterful when he chose, and with sudden
+impulsive impatience he bent and kissed her.
+
+Christine burst into tears.
+
+He had swept her off her feet.  A moment since she had never dreamed of
+anything like this; and now--now her head was on Jimmy Challoner's
+shoulder, and his arm round her.
+
+"Don't cry," he said huskily.  "Don't cry--I didn't mean to be a brute.
+Did I frighten you?"
+
+He was already beginning to realise what he had done.  A little cold
+shiver crept down his spine.
+
+He had kissed this girl and asked her to marry him; but he did not love
+her.  There was something still of the old boyish affection for her in
+his hearty but nothing more.  Remorse seized him.
+
+"Don't cry," he begged again with an effort.  "Would you like me to go
+away? . . .  Oh, don't cry, dear."
+
+Christine dried her eyes.
+
+"It's--it's only be-because I'm so h-happy," she said on the top of a
+last sob.  "Oh, J-Jimmy--I do love you."
+
+The words sounded somehow infinitely pathetic.  Jimmy bit his lip hard.
+His arm fell from about her waist.
+
+"I--I'm not half good enough for you," he stammered.
+
+He really meant that.  He felt himself a perfect rotter beside her
+innocent whole-hearted surrender.  Christine was looking at him with
+tearful eyes, though her lips smiled tremulously.
+
+"Oh, Jimmy--what will mother say?" she whiskered.  "And--and Mr.
+Sangster?"
+
+Jimmy laughed outright then.  She was such a child.  Why on earth
+should it matter what Sangster said?
+
+Christine did not know why she had spoken of him at all; but his kind
+face had seemed to float into her mind with the touch of Jimmy's lips.
+She was glad she had liked him.  He was Jimmy's friend; now he would be
+her friend, too.
+
+There was an awkward silence.  Jimmy made no attempt to kiss her
+again--he did not even touch her.
+
+He was thinking of the night when he had asked Cynthia to marry him.
+It had been in a taxi--coming home from the theatre.  In imagination he
+could still smell the scent of the lilies she wore in her fur
+coat--still feel the touch of her hair against his cheek.
+
+That had been all rapture; this--he looked at Christine remorsefully.
+Poor child, she missed nothing in this strange proposal.  Her eyes were
+like stars.  As she met Jimmy's gaze she moved shyly across to him and
+raised her face.
+
+"Kiss me, Jimmy," she said.
+
+Jimmy kissed her very softly on the cheek.  She put her hands up to his
+broad shoulders.
+
+"And--and you do--really--love me?" she asked wistfully.
+
+Jimmy could not meet her eyes, but--
+
+"Of course I do," he said.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+It was late when Jimmy got back to his rooms that night.  Mrs. Wyatt
+had insisted on him staying to dinner.  There was no doubt that she was
+delighted at the turn affairs had taken, though she had said that it
+was soon--very soon.  They must be engaged a few months at least, to
+make sure--quite sure.
+
+She kissed Jimmy--she kissed Christine; she said she was very happy.
+
+Jimmy felt a cad.  He was thankful when the evening was ended.  He drew
+a great breath of relief when he walked away from the hotel.
+
+He was an engaged man--and engaged to Christine.  He felt as if someone
+had snapped handcuffs on his wrists.
+
+Being Christine's fiance would mean a very different thing from being
+engaged to Cynthia.
+
+The two girls lived very different lives, had been brought up very
+differently.
+
+Jimmy had liked the free and easy Bohemianism of the set in which
+Cynthia moved; he was not so sure about Christine's.
+
+He was utterly wretched as he walked home.  He had tied himself for
+life; there would be no slipping out of this engagement.
+
+Poor little Christine! she deserved a better man.  He felt acutely
+conscious of his own unworthiness.
+
+He walked the whole way home.  He was dog tired when he let himself
+into his rooms.  Sangster rose from a chair by the fire.
+
+Jimmy stifled an oath under his breath as he shut the door.
+
+Sangster was the last man he wished to see at the present moment.  He
+kept his eyes averted as he came forward.
+
+"Hallo!" he said.  "Been here long?"
+
+"All the evening.  Thought you'd sure to be in.  Costin said you'd be
+in to dinner, he thought."
+
+"I meant to . . . stayed with the Wyatts, though."
+
+Jimmy helped himself to a whiskey.  He knew that Sangster was watching
+him.  His gaze got unbearable.  He swung round with sharp impatience.
+"What the devil are you staring at?" he demanded irritably.
+
+"Nothing.  What a surly brute you're getting.  Got a cigarette?"
+
+Jimmy threw his case over.
+
+"By the way," he said with overdone carelessness, "I've got some news
+for you.  It'll be in all the papers to-morrow, so I thought I might as
+well tell you first."  There was a little pause.
+
+"Well?" said Sangster shortly.
+
+Jimmy struck a match on the sole of his shoe.
+
+"I'm engaged," he said, "to Christine."
+
+It seemed a long, long time before Sangster moved or spoke.  After a
+moment Jimmy Challoner swung round irritably.
+
+"Well, why don't you say something?" he demanded.  "It's a nice
+friendly way to receive news.  Why the devil don't you say something?"
+he asked again angrily.
+
+Sangster said something then; something which Jimmy had never expected.
+
+"You ought to be shot!"
+
+And then the silence fell once more.
+
+Jimmy kicked at the blazing coals furiously; he had got very red.
+
+"You ought to be shot!" said Sangster again.  He rose to his feet; he
+threw his unsmoked cigarette into the grate and walked towards the door.
+
+Jimmy turned.
+
+"Here--come back!  Where are you going?  Of all the bad-tempered
+beggars----"  His face was abashed; there was a sort of wavering in his
+voice.  He moved a step forward to overtake his friend.
+
+Sangster looked back at him with biting contempt in his honest eyes.
+
+"I'm fed up with you," he said.  "Sick to death of you and your
+abominable selfishness.  I--oh, what's the good of talking----?"  He
+was gone with a slam of the door.
+
+Jimmy dragged a chair forward and flung himself into it.  His face was
+a study; now and then he gave a little choked exclamation of rage.
+
+What the deuce did Sangster mean by taking such an attitude?  It was
+like his infernal cheek.  It was no business of his if he chose to get
+engaged to Christine and half a dozen other girls at the same time.
+Anyone would think he had done a shabby trick by asking her to marry
+him; anyone would think that there had been something disgraceful in
+having done so; anyone would think----
+
+"Damn it all!" said Jimmy Challoner.
+
+He took a cigarette and lit it; but it went out almost immediately, and
+he flung it into the fire and lit another.
+
+In a minute or two he had thrown that away also; he lay back in his
+chair and closed his eyes.
+
+He was an engaged man--it was no novelty.  He had been engaged before
+to a woman whom he adored.  Now he was engaged to Christine, the girl
+who had been his boyhood's sweetheart; a girl whom he had not seen for
+years.
+
+He wondered if she believed that he loved her.  He sat up, frowning.
+He did love her--of course he did; or, at least, he would when they
+were married and settled down.  Men always loved their wives--decent
+men, that is.
+
+He tried to believe that.  He tried to forget the heaps and heaps of
+unhappy marriages which had been brought before his notice; friends of
+his own--all jolly decent chaps, too.
+
+But, of course, such a thing would never happen to him.  He meant to
+play the game by Christine, she was a dear little thing.  But the face
+of Cynthia would rise before his eyes; he could not forget the way she
+had cried that evening, and clung to him.
+
+He forgot how she had lied and deceived him; he remembered only that
+she loved him--that she admitted that she still loved him.
+
+It was all the cursed money.  If only the Great Horatio would come out
+of his niggardly shell and stump up a bit!  It was not fair--he was as
+rich as Croesus; it would not hurt him to fork out another five hundred
+a year.
+
+Jimmy leaned his head in his hands; his head was aching badly now; he
+supposed it was the quantity of brandy he had drunk.  He got up from
+his chair, and, turning out the light, went off to bed.  But the
+darkness seemed worse than the light; it was crowded with pictures of
+Cynthia.  He saw her face in a thousand different memories; her eyes
+drew and tortured him.  She was the only woman he had ever loved; he
+was sure of that.  He was more sure of it with every passing, wakeful
+second.
+
+He never slept a wink till it began to get light.  When at last he fell
+asleep he had dreadful dreams.  He woke up to the sound of Costin
+moving about the room.  He turned over with a stifled groan.
+
+"Good morning, sir," said Costin stolidly.
+
+Jimmy did not condescend to answer.  Pale sunlight was pouring through
+the window.  He closed his eyes; his head still ached vilely.  He got
+up late, and dressed with a bad grace.
+
+He ate no breakfast.  He tried to remember whether he had promised to
+go round to the Wyatts' that morning or not; everything was a blank in
+his mind except the one fact that he was engaged to Christine.
+
+He could remember that clearly enough, at all events.
+
+About eleven he took his hat and went out.  He was annoyed because the
+sun was shining; he was annoyed because London was looking cheerful
+when he himself felt depressed beyond measure.
+
+Unconsciously he found his way to the Wyatts' hotel; they were both
+out, for which he was grateful.
+
+"Miss Wyatt left a message for you in case you called, sir," the porter
+told him.  "She said would you come back to lunch?"
+
+Jimmy muttered something and walked away.  He had no intention of going
+back to lunch; he wandered down Regent Street.  Presently he found
+himself staring in at a jeweller's window.  That reminded him; he would
+have to buy Christine a ring.
+
+He wondered if Cynthia intended to keep the one he had given to her; it
+had cost him a fabulous sum.  He had been hard up for weeks afterwards
+in consequence; and even then it was not nearly so fine as some she
+already had--as some Mortlake could afford to give her, for instance.
+
+He could not yet realise that this detestable thing had really happened
+to him.  He made up his mind that if Christine would have him, he would
+marry her at once.  There was nothing to wait for--and he wanted to let
+Cynthia see that he was not going to wear the willow for her.
+
+He turned away from the window and the dazzling rows of diamond rings
+and walked on.  He remembered that he had not answered his brother's
+letter; on the spur of the moment he turned into the nearest post
+office and sent a cable:
+
+
+Letter received.  Am engaged to Christine Wyatt, of Upton House.  You
+remember her.--JAMES.
+
+
+He never signed himself "Jimmy" when he was writing to the Great
+Horatio.  The cable, together with his brother's address, cost him
+fifteen shillings; he grudged the expense, but he supposed it had to be
+sent.
+
+He wandered on again up the street.
+
+He had some lunch by himself, and went back to the Wyatts' hotel.
+Christine came running down the stairs to meet him; her eyes were
+dancing, her face flushed.
+
+"Oh, Jimmy!" she said.  She looked as if she expected him to kiss her,
+he thought; after a moment he lightly touched her cheek with his lips.
+
+"I'm sorry I couldn't come to lunch," he said stiltedly.  "I--er--I had
+an engagement.  If you care to come out----"
+
+He knew he must sound horribly casual and indifferent; he tried in vain
+to infuse some enthusiasm into his voice, but failed.
+
+Christine seemed to notice nothing amiss; she assented eagerly when he
+suggested they should go and look at the shops.
+
+"You--er you must have a ring, you know," he said.
+
+His heart smote him when he saw the way her lips trembled.  He took her
+hand remorsefully.
+
+"I mean to make you very happy," he said.  He dropped her hand again
+and moved away.
+
+In his mind he kept comparing this with the first days of his
+engagement to Cynthia.  He had not been tongue-tied and foolish then;
+he had not needed to be reminded that it was usual to kiss a girl when
+you were engaged to her; he--oh, confound it!
+
+Christine had gone for her hat and coat.
+
+"Mother is not at all well," she said anxiously when she came back.
+"Do you know, Jimmy, I have thought sometimes lately that she really
+isn't so well and strong as she tries to make me believe."
+
+Jimmy was not impressed; he said that he thought Mrs. Wyatt looked A1;
+not a day older than when she had mothered him down at Upton House all
+those years ago.  Christine was pleased; she adored her mother; she was
+quite happy as they left the hotel together.
+
+"You choose what you like," he told her when they were in the
+jeweller's shop.  The man behind the counter thought him the most
+casual lover he had ever yet served.  He looked at Christine with a
+sort of pity; she was so eager and happy.  He brought another tray of
+diamond rings.
+
+Christine appealed to Jimmy Challoner.
+
+"I would much rather you chose one for me.  Which one would you like
+best?"
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"I don't mind--anything you like; you've got to wear it."  He saw a
+little swift look of amazement in her eyes; he roused himself.
+
+"Diamonds are nice," he said with more enthusiasm.
+
+Christine chose a single stone; the ring just fitted, and she turned
+her little hand about delightedly to show Jimmy how the diamond flashed.
+
+She felt as if she were walking on air as they left the shop.  Now and
+then she glanced at Jimmy as if afraid that she had dreamed all this.
+
+She had loved him all her life; she was sure that he, too, must have
+loved her, or he would never have asked her to be his wife.
+
+They had tea together.  Over the buttered muffins Jimmy said suddenly:
+
+"Christine, why can't we get married--soon, I mean!"
+
+Lovely colour dyed her face.
+
+"But--but we've only just got engaged," she said breathlessly.
+
+"I know; but engagements are always short nowadays.  If you are
+willing----"
+
+Apparently she was more than willing; she would have married him that
+minute had he suggested it, She said she must speak to her mother about
+it.
+
+"There is your brother to tell, too," she said.
+
+"I cabled to him this morning," Jimmy answered.
+
+"Did you!"  Her eyes brightened.  "How sweet of you, Jimmy.  Do you
+think he will be pleased?"
+
+"He's never pleased about anything," said Jimmy with a little laugh.
+
+He leaned an elbow on the corner of the table and looked into her eyes.
+
+"Say yes, Christine," he urged.  "If you want to marry me, Mrs. Wyatt
+won't stand in the way; after all, you've known me all your life."
+
+She flushed and stammered:
+
+"Jimmy--I--I think I'm a little afraid.  Supposing--supposing you found
+out that--that you'd made a mistake----"  Her eyes were troubled.
+
+Jimmy's face caught the flush from hers; for a moment his eyes wavered.
+
+"We're going to be awfully happy," he asserted then, almost violently.
+"If you love me----"
+
+"You know I do."  His hand fell carelessly to hers.
+
+"Very well, then say yes."
+
+Christine said it.
+
+She thought everything perfect; she had never been so happy in all her
+life.  If Jimmy did not love her tremendously, he would not be so
+anxious to be married, she told herself.  Theirs was going to be one of
+those romantic marriages of which one reads in books.
+
+"Shall I speak to Mrs. Wyatt, or will you?" he asked her.
+
+"I think I would like to--first," she told him.
+
+"Very well."  Jimmy was relieved.  He was somehow a little afraid of
+Mrs. Wyatt's kind mother eyes; he dreaded lest she might read deep down
+into his heart, and know what he was doing--guess that he was only
+marrying Christine because--because why?
+
+To forget another woman; to pay another woman out for the way she had
+treated him.  That is how he would have answered that question had he
+been quite honest with himself; but as it was he evaded facing it at
+all.  He merely contented himself with assuring Christine all over
+again that he was going to be very good to her and make her happy.
+
+"I'll tell mother to-night," Christine said when they went back to the
+hotel.  "And I'll write to you, Jimmy; I'll----" she broke off.  The
+porter had come forward; he spoke to Jimmy in an undertone.
+
+"May I speak to you a moment, sir?"
+
+Christine moved away.
+
+"If you will ask the young lady to wait, sir," the man said again with
+a sort of agitation.
+
+A little flame of apprehension swept across Jimmy's face.  He spoke to
+Christine.
+
+"Wait for me a moment--just a moment."  He turned again to the man.
+"Well--well, what is it?"
+
+The man lowered his voice.
+
+"The lady, sir--Mrs. Wyatt; she was taken very ill an hour ago.  The
+doctor is with her now.  I was told to tell you as soon as you came in,
+so that you could warn the young lady, sir."
+
+Christine had come forward.
+
+"Is anything the matter?" she asked.  She looked from Jimmy to the
+porter wonderingly.  Jimmy took her hand.
+
+"Your mother isn't very well, dear."  The little word slipped out
+unconsciously.  "There is a doctor with her now. . . .  No, don't be
+worried.  I dare say it's nothing.  I'll come up with you and see."
+
+Christine fled up the staircase.  She was already in her mother's room
+when Jimmy overtook her.  Through the half-closed door he could see the
+doctor and a woman in nurse's dress.  His heart began to race.
+Supposing Mrs. Wyatt were really ill; supposing----  The doctor came
+out to him as he stood on the landing.
+
+"Are you--are you a relative of Mrs. Wyatt's?" he asked.
+
+Jimmy hesitated.
+
+"I--I am engaged to Miss Wyatt," he said.  "I hope--I hope there is
+nothing serious the matter?"
+
+The doctor glanced back over his shoulder.  Jimmy's eyes instinctively
+turned in the same direction; he could see Christine on her knees
+beside the bed in the darkened room.
+
+"Mrs. Wyatt is dying, I regret to say," the doctor said; he spoke in a
+low voice, so that his words should not reach Christine.  "It's only a
+question of hours at most.  I've done all I can, but nothing can save
+her.  It's heart trouble, you know; she must have been suffering with
+it for years."
+
+Jimmy Challoner stood staring at him, white-faced--stunned.
+
+"Oh, my God!" he said at last.  He was terribly shocked; he could not
+believe it.  He looked again to where Christine knelt by the bed.
+
+"Does she--Christine--who is to tell her?" he asked incoherently.
+
+The doctor shook his head.
+
+"I should suggest that you----" he began.
+
+Jimmy recoiled.  "I!  Oh, I couldn't. . . .  I----"  He broke off
+helplessly.  He was thinking of the old days down at Upton House; the
+great kindness that had always been shown to him by Christine's mother.
+There was a choking feeling in his throat.
+
+"I think you are the one to tell her," said the doctor again, rather
+stiffly.
+
+Christine had heard their voices.  She looked towards the door; she
+rose softly and came out to where the two men stood.
+
+Her eyes were anxious, but she was a hundred miles from guessing the
+truth.  She spoke to Jimmy Challoner.
+
+"She's asleep, Jimmy.  The nurse tells me that she only fainted.  Oh, I
+ought not to have left her when I knew she wasn't well.  I shall never
+forgive myself; but she'll be all right now if she has a nice sleep,
+poor darling."
+
+Jimmy could not meet her eyes; he bit his lip hard to hide its sudden
+trembling.
+
+The doctor came to Jimmy's rescue.
+
+"Has your mother ever had similar attacks to this one, Miss Wyatt?" he
+asked.
+
+Christine considered.
+
+"She hasn't been very well lately.  She's complained of being tired
+several times, and once she said she had a pain in her side; but----"
+She broke off; she looked breathlessly into his face.  Suddenly she
+caught her breath hard, clutching at Jimmy Challoner's arm.
+
+"Jimmy," she said shrilly.
+
+Jimmy put his arm round her; his voice was all broken when he spoke.
+
+"She's ill, Christine--very ill.  Oh, my dear----"  He could not go on;
+he was very boyish still in many ways, and he felt more like breaking
+down and weeping with her than trying to comfort her and help her
+through the ordeal she had got to face.
+
+But Christine knew in a minute.  She pushed him away; she stood with
+hands clasped together, staring before her through the half-closed door
+with wide, tragic eyes.
+
+"Mother," she said uncertainly; and then again, "Mother!"  And now
+there was a wild sort of cry in her voice.
+
+"Christine," said Jimmy huskily.  He caught her hand; he tried to hold
+her back, but she broke away from him, staggered a few steps, and fell
+before either of the men could save her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+MOTHERLESS
+
+Sangster was writing letters in his rooms in the unfashionable part of
+Bloomsbury when Jimmy's urgent message reached him.  It was brought by
+one of the hotel servants, who waited at the door, yawning and
+indifferent, while Sangster read the hastily scrawled lines:
+
+
+For God's sake come at once.  Mrs. Wyatt died suddenly this afternoon,
+and there is no one to see to anything but me.
+
+
+Dead!  Sangster could not believe it.  He had admired Mrs. Wyatt
+tremendously that night when they all went to the theatre together; she
+had seemed so full of life, so young to have a grown-up daughter like
+Christine.  Oh, surely there must be some mistake.
+
+"I'll come at once," he said.  He crushed Jimmy's note into his pocket
+and went back for his hat.  He called a taxi, and took the man from the
+hotel back with him; he asked him a few questions, but the man was
+uncommunicative, and apparently not very interested.  Yes, the lady was
+dead right enough, so he had been told, he admitted.  The
+gentleman--Mr. Challoner--seemed in a great way about it.
+
+Sangster was terribly shocked.  He had quite forgotten the manner of
+his parting with Jimmy; he was only too willing and anxious to help him
+in any way possible.  When they reached the hotel he was shown into the
+Wyatt's private sitting-room.  Jimmy was there at the telephone; he
+hung up the receiver as Sangster entered the room; he turned a white,
+worried face.
+
+"Awful thing, isn't it?" he said.  Even his voice sounded changed; it
+had lost its usual light-heartedness.
+
+"It's given me a most awful shock," he said again.  "She was as well as
+anything last night; nobody had any idea----"  He broke off with a
+choke in his voice.  "Poor little Christine," he said after a moment.
+"We can't do anything with her.  I wondered if you--but I suppose you
+can't," he added hopelessly.
+
+"Where is Miss Wyatt?" Sangster asked.  His kind face was very grave,
+but there was a steadiness in his eyes--the eyes of a man who might be
+trusted.
+
+"She's in her room; we had to take her away forcibly from--from her
+mother. . . .  You don't know what a hell I've been through, old chap,"
+said Jimmy Challoner.
+
+Sangster frowned.
+
+"You!" he said with faint cynicism.  "What about that poor little girl,
+then; she----"  The door opened behind them, and Christine came in.
+She stood for a moment looking across at the two men with blank eyes,
+as if she hardly recognised them.  Her face was white and haggard;
+there was a stunned look in her eyes, but Sangster could see that she
+had not shed a tear.  He went forward and took her hand.  He drew her
+into the room, shutting the door quietly.  Jimmy had walked over to the
+window; he stood staring into the street with misty eyes.  He had never
+had death brought home to him like this before.  It seemed to have made
+an upheaval in his world; to have thrown all his schemes and
+calculations out of gear; life was all at once a thing to be feared and
+dreaded.
+
+He could hear Sangster talking to Christine behind him; he could not
+hear what he was saying; he was only too thankful that his friend had
+come.  The last hours which he had spent alone with Christine had been
+a nightmare to him.  He had been so unable to comfort her; he had been
+at his wits' end to know what to do or say.  She was so utterly alone;
+she had no father--no brothers to whom he could send.  He had wired to
+an uncle of whom she had told him, but it was impossible that anyone
+could arrive before the morning, he knew.
+
+Sangster was just the sort needed for a tragedy such as this; was a
+brick--he always knew what to say and do.
+
+The room seemed very silent; the whole world seemed silent too, as if
+it had stopped aghast at this sudden tragedy which had been enacted in
+its midst.
+
+Then Christine began to sob; the most pathetic, loneliest sound it was
+through the silent room.  Jimmy felt himself choking--felt his own eyes
+blurred and misty.
+
+He turned impulsively.  Christine was huddled in one of the big chairs,
+her pretty head down-flung on an arm.  Sangster stood beside her, his
+hand on her shoulder.
+
+Jimmy never looked at his friend, or he might have learned many, many
+things from the expression of his eyes just then as he moved back
+silently and let Jimmy pass.
+
+He fell on his knees beside Christine.  For the moment, at least,
+everything else in the world was forgotten between them; she was just a
+motherless, broken girl sobbing her heart out--just the girl he had
+once loved with all a boy's first ardour.  He put his arms round her
+and drew her head down, so that it rested on his shoulder, and her face
+was hidden in his coat.
+
+"Don't cry, my poor little girl," said Jimmy Challoner, with a break in
+his own young voice.  "Oh, Christine, don't cry."
+
+Sangster, watching, saw the way her arms crept upwards till they were
+clasped round Jimmy's neck; saw the way she clung to him; heard the
+anguish in her voice as she said:
+
+"I've got no one now, Jimmy; no one at all."
+
+Jimmy looked up, and, across her bowed head, his eyes met those of his
+friend with a sort of defiance in them.
+
+"You've got me, Christine," he said with a new sort of humbleness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+JIMMY HAS A VISITOR
+
+"I'm going to be married, Costin," said Jimmy Challoner.
+
+He was deep in an arm-chair, with his legs stuck up on the seat of
+another, and he was blowing rather agitated puffs of smoke into the
+room from an expensive cigar, for which he had not paid.
+
+Costin was mixing a whisky-and-soda at the table, and just for an
+instant the syphon jerked, sending a stream of soda-water over the
+cloth.
+
+"Yes, sir; certainly, sir; to--to Miss Farrow, I presoom, sir."
+
+There was a momentary silence, then:
+
+"No, you fathead," said Jimmy Challoner curtly.  "To Miss Wyatt--a Miss
+Christine Wyatt; and I'm going to be married the day after to-morrow."
+
+"Yes, sir; I'm sure I wish you every happiness, sir.  And if I may ask,
+sir--will you still be requiring my services?"
+
+Jimmy stared.
+
+"Of course I shall," he said blankly.  "Who the police do you think is
+going to look after my clothes, and shave me?"  He brought his feet
+down from the opposite chair and sat up.  "I'm going to be married in
+London--quietly," he said; he did not look at Costin now.  "Miss Wyatt
+has lost her mother recently--I dare say you know.  I--er--I think that
+is all," he added, with a sort of embarrassment, as he recalled the
+times, the many times, he had made a confidant of Costin in the days
+before he was engaged to Cynthia; the many little gifts that Costin had
+conveyed to her; the notes he had brought back.  Jimmy stifled a sigh
+in his broad chest; he rose to his feet.
+
+"And, Costin----"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"There is no need to--to mention--Miss Farrow--if--you understand?"
+
+"Perfectly, sir."
+
+"Very well; get out," said Jimmy.
+
+Costin obeyed imperturbably.  He knew Jimmy Challoner very well; and in
+this case, at all events, the master was certainly no hero to the
+valet.  Left alone, Jimmy subsided again into his chair with a sigh.
+The day after to-morrow! it seemed as if it must be the end of
+everything; as if he would be brought up sharply against an unscalable
+brick wall when his wedding-day came.
+
+Poor little Christine! she had changed very much during the past few
+days; she looked somehow older--more grown-up; she smiled less
+frequently, and she was very quiet--even with Jimmy.  And she loved
+Jimmy; she seemed to love him all the more now that he was all that was
+left to her.  Jimmy realised it, too, and it worried him.  He meant to
+be good to her--he wanted to be good to her; but--involuntarily he
+glanced towards the blank space on the mantelshelf where Cynthia
+Farrow's portrait used to stand.
+
+He had not seen her since that night when she had told him the truth;
+when she had told him that she had thrown him over because he was not
+rich enough, because she valued diamonds and beautiful clothes more
+than she valued his love.  He wondered if she knew of his engagement;
+if she had been told about it, and if so--whether she minded.
+
+So far nobody had seemed particularly pleased except the Great Horatio,
+who had cabled that he was delighted, and that he was making immediate
+arrangements to increase Jimmy's allowance.
+
+Jimmy had smiled grimly over that part of the message; it was hard luck
+that the Great Horatio should only shell out now, when--when--he pulled
+up his thoughts sharply; he tried to remember that he was already
+almost as good as a married man; he had no right to be thinking of
+another woman; he was going to marry Christine.
+
+The door opened; Costin reappeared.
+
+"Please, sir--a lady to see you."
+
+"What!"
+
+Jimmy stared incredulously.  "A lady to see me?  Rot!  It's some
+mistake----"
+
+"No, sir, begging your pardon, sir," said Costin stolidly.  "It's--if
+you please, sir, it's Miss Farrow."
+
+Jimmy stood immovable for a moment, then he turned round slowly and
+mechanically, almost as if someone had taken him by his shoulders and
+forced him to do so.
+
+"Miss--Farrow!" he echoed Costin's apologetic utterance of Cynthia's
+name expressionlessly.  "Miss--Farrow . . ."  The colour rushed from
+his brow to chin; his heart began to race just as it used to in the old
+days when he had called to see her, and was waiting in her pink
+drawing-room, listening to the sound of her coming steps on the landing
+outside.  After a moment:
+
+"Ask--ask her to come in," he said.
+
+He turned back to the mirror; mechanically he passed a hand over the
+refractory kink in his hair; he looked at his tie with critical eyes;
+he wished there had been time to shave, he wished--and then he forgot
+to wish anything more at all, for the door had opened, and Cynthia
+herself stood there.
+
+She was beautifully dressed; he realised in a vague sort of way that
+she had never looked more desirable, and yet for the life of him he
+could not have told what she was wearing, except that there was a big
+bunch of lilies tucked into the bosom of her gown.
+
+She held out her hands to him; she was smiling adorably.
+
+"Jimmy," she said.
+
+Jimmy's first wild instinct was to rush forward and take her in his
+arms; then he remembered.  He backed away from her a step; he began to
+tremble.
+
+"What--what have you come here for?" he stammered.
+
+She laughed.
+
+"Jimmy, how rude!  You don't look a bit pleased to see me.  You--oh,
+Jimmy, I thought you'd be so happy--so delighted."
+
+She came across to him now; she slipped a hand through his arm; she
+leaned her cheek against his coat-sleeve; the scent of the lilies she
+wore mounted intoxicatingly to his head.
+
+He tried not to look at her--he tried to stiffen his arm beneath her
+cheek; but his heart was thumping--he felt as if he were choking.
+
+There was a moment of silence, then she looked up at him with a little
+spark of wonderment in her eyes.
+
+"You're not going to forgive me--is that it?" she asked blankly.
+
+She moved away from him; she stood just in front of him, looking into
+his face with the witching eyes he knew so well.
+
+He would not look at her; he stared steadily over her head at the door
+beyond; he tried to laugh.
+
+"It's not a question of forgiveness--is it?" he asked jerkily.
+"You--you chucked me up.  You--you told me a lie to get rid of me.
+It--it isn't a question of forgiveness, do you think?"
+
+She looked nonplussed, then she smiled.  She took Jimmy's face between
+her hands, holding it so that he was forced to meet her eyes; she stood
+on tiptoe and softly kissed his chin.
+
+"I'm sorry," she said, and now there was a very genuine ring of
+earnestness in her voice.  "I'm more sorry than I can ever say.
+Forgive me, Jimmy; I've been punished enough.  I--oh, if you knew how
+miserable I've been."
+
+Jimmy stood like a man turned to stone; he stared at her with a sort of
+dread in his eyes.  There were tears in hers; one big tear fell from
+her long lashes, and splashed down on to the lilies she wore.
+
+After a moment he spoke with difficulty.
+
+"Are you . . . what are you trying to say to me?"
+
+Her hands fell to her sides; she looked down with a touch of shame.
+
+"I'm trying to say that I'm sorry; I'm trying to tell you that I--I
+don't mind how poor you are.  I thought I did, but--oh, Jimmy, I'd
+rather have you, and no money at all, than--than be as rich as Croesus
+with--with any other man."
+
+"Cynthia!"  Jimmy spoke her name in a stifled voice; she raised her
+eyes quickly.  There was none of the passionate joy in his face which
+she had so confidently expected; none of the passionate joy in his
+voice which her heart told her ought to be there.  Suddenly he turned
+aside from her; he put his arm down on the mantelshelf, hiding his face
+in it.
+
+"Jimmy."  She whispered his name with a sort of fear.
+"Jimmy--what--what is it?  Oh, you are frightening me.  I thought you
+would be so glad--so glad."  She caught the limp hand hanging against
+his side; she laid her soft cheek to it.
+
+Jimmy Challoner tore himself free with a sort of rage.
+
+"It's too late--too late," he said hoarsely.
+
+"Too--late!"  She stared at him, not understanding.  "What--what do you
+mean?  That--that you can't forgive me; that--that you're so angry
+that--that----"
+
+He swung round, white-faced and quivering.
+
+"It's too late," he said again hopelessly.  "I'm engaged to be married.
+I--oh, why did you ever send me away?" he broke out in anguish.
+
+Her face had paled, but she was still far enough from understanding.
+
+"Engaged to be married--you!  To whom, Jimmy?"
+
+He answered her in a voice of stifled rage.
+
+"It's your doing--all your fault.  You nearly drove me mad when you
+sent me away, and I--I----"  There was a long pause.  "I told you that
+I met some friends in the theatre that night when you . . . well, I'm
+engaged to her--to Christine.  I've known her all my life.  I--I was
+utterly wretched . . .  I asked her to marry me.  We're--we're going to
+be married the day after to-morrow."
+
+Twice she tried to speak, but no words would come.  She was as white
+now as the lilies she wore; her eyes had a stunned, incredulous look in
+them.  She had never even remotely dreamed of this; it was like some
+crude nightmare. . . .  Jimmy engaged!  Jimmy who had sworn a thousand
+times never to love another woman; Jimmy who had been heart-broken when
+she sent him away.  She broke out in vehement protest:
+
+"Oh, no--no!"
+
+"It's true," said Jimmy obstinately.  "It's true."
+
+For the moment he was hardly conscious of any feeling except a sort of
+shock.  It had never once crossed his mind that she would come back to
+him; he could not believe even now that she was in earnest; he found
+himself remembering that night in her dressing-room at the theatre when
+she had lied to him, and pretended, and deceived him.  Perhaps even
+this was all part of the play-acting; perhaps she was just trying to
+win him back again, to make a fool of him afresh.
+
+Cynthia broke out again.
+
+"Well, this girl must be told; she can't care for you.  You say you
+haven't seen her for years.  It's--it's absurd!"  She took a step
+towards him.  "You must tell her, Jimmy; you must explain to her.  She
+. . . surely there is such a thing as buying her off."
+
+The vulgarity of the expression made him wince; he thought of Christine
+with a sort of shame.
+
+She would be the last girl in the world, he knew, to wish to hold him
+to a promise which he was unwilling to fulfil; he thought of her pale
+face and wistful brown eyes, and he broke out strenuously:
+
+"It's impossible . . . it's too late . . . we are to be married on
+Thursday; everything is fixed up.  I--oh, for God's sake, Cynthia,
+don't go on talking about it.  You drove me to do what I have done.
+It's too late--I can't go back on my word."
+
+She stood twisting her fingers agitatedly.  Suddenly she went to where
+he stood; she tried to put her arms round his neck, but he resisted
+fiercely.  He held her wrists; he kept his head flung back beyond her
+reach.
+
+"It's too late, Cynthia--do you hear!  I've given my word; I'm not
+going back on it now.  You can't blame me. . . .  I--I'd have given my
+life for this to have happened before--just a few days ago; but now----"
+
+"You don't love me," she accused him passionately; she began to cry.
+"You said you would never love any woman but me as long as you lived.
+I thought you cared more for me than I do for you, but now I know you
+don't--you don't care so much.  If you did you would give up this--this
+girl, whoever she is, without a single thought."  Her voice dropped
+sobbingly.  "Oh, Jimmy--Jimmy, don't be cruel; you can't mean It.  I
+love you so much . . . you belonged to me first."
+
+"You sent me away; you lied to me and deceived me."
+
+He felt that he must keep on reminding himself of it; that he dared not
+for one instant allow himself to forget everything but how beautiful
+she was, and how much he wanted her.
+
+She fell back from him; she dropped into a chair, hiding her face, and
+sobbing.
+
+There was a touch of the theatrical in her attitude, but Jimmy was too
+miserable to be critical.  He only knew that she was miserable and on
+his account, and that he loved her.
+
+He broke out agitatedly:
+
+"Don't, Cynthia--don't cry; you break my heart. . .  Oh, for God's
+sake, don't cry."
+
+"You don't care how miserable I am," she sobbed.  "You--you haven't got
+a heart to break, if you can stand there like a stone and tell me that
+it's too late.  It's not too late; you're not married yet.  Tell her
+the truth; oh! if you love me tell her the truth, Jimmy."
+
+Jimmy was looking at her, but for a moment he only saw the big
+sitting-room at the hotel where Mrs. Wyatt had died, and the crushed
+little figure of Christine herself, as he had knelt beside her and drew
+her head to his shoulder.
+
+"Oh, Jimmy, I've got no one now--no one."  Her voice came back to him,
+a mournful echo; and his own husky answer:
+
+"You've got me, Christine!"
+
+How could he go back on that--how could he add to her weight of sorrow?
+
+"She's got nobody but me in all the world," he said simply; he was
+looking at Cynthia now, as if he found it easier.  "She has just lost
+her mother, and she's the loneliest little thing----" he stopped
+jaggedly.
+
+For a moment she did not answer; she had stopped sobbing; she was
+carefully wiping her eyes; she got up and walked over to the glass
+above the mantelshelf; she looked at herself anxiously.
+
+"Well, I suppose it's good-bye, then," she said heavily; her voice
+dragged a little.  She picked up her gloves and a silver chain-bag
+which she had thrown down on the table; she turned towards the door.
+"Good-bye, Jimmy."
+
+Jimmy Challoner did not answer; he could not trust his voice.  He
+walked past her and put his fingers on the door handle to open it for
+her; he was very white, and his eyes were fierce.
+
+Cynthia stood still for an instant; she was quite close to him now.
+"Good-bye," she said again faintly.
+
+He tried to answer, but could not find his voice; their eyes met, and
+the next moment she was in his arms.
+
+He never knew how it happened; never knew if he made the first move
+towards her, or she to him; but he held her fast, kissing her as he had
+never kissed little Christine--her eyes, her hair, her warm, tremulous
+lips.
+
+"You do love me, then, after all?" she whispered.
+
+Jimmy let her go; he fell back against the door, hiding his eyes.
+
+"You know I do," he said hoarsely.
+
+He hated himself for his momentary weakness; he could not bear to look
+at her; when she had gone, he sat down in the big arm-chair and hid his
+face in his hands.
+
+His pulses were racing; his head felt on fire.
+
+The day after to-morrow he was to marry Christine.  He had given his
+promise to her, and he knew that it was too late to draw back--too late
+to break her heart.  And yet there was only one woman in all the world
+whom he loved, and whom he wanted--the woman from whom he had just
+parted; the woman who was even then driving away down the street with a
+little triumphant smile on her carefully reddened lips.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+HUSBAND AND WIFE
+
+". . . to love, cherish, and to obey till death us do part."
+
+Christine raised her soft brown eyes shyly and looked at Jimmy
+Challoner.
+
+A ray of sunlight, piercing the stained glass window above the altar,
+fell on her face and slim figure; her voice was quite clear and steady,
+though a little sad perhaps, as she slowly repeated the words after the
+rather bored-looking clergyman.
+
+Jimmy had insisted on being married in a parish where neither of them
+was known; he had got a special licence, and there was nobody in the
+church but the verger and Sangster, and a deaf uncle of Christine's,
+who thought the whole affair a great bother, and who had looked up a
+train to catch back home the very moment that Christine should have
+safely passed out of his keeping into her husband's.
+
+He bade them "good-bye" in the vestry; he kissed Christine rather
+awkwardly, and said that he hoped she would be happy; his voice seemed
+to imply a doubt.  He shook hands with Jimmy and called him a lucky
+dog; he spoke like a man who hardly realises what he is saying; he
+shook hands with Sangster and hurried away.
+
+They heard him creaking down the aisle of the church, and the following
+slam of the heavy door behind him; there was a little awkward silence.
+
+The clergyman was blotting Christine's new name in the register; he
+looked up at her with short-sighted eyes, a quill pen held between his
+teeth.
+
+"Would you--er--care to have the pen, Mrs.--er--Challoner?"
+
+He had a starchy voice and a starchy manner.
+
+Christine was conscious of a sudden feeling of utter home-sickness;
+everybody was so stiff and strange; even Jimmy--dearly as she loved
+him--seemed somehow like a stranger in his smart coat and brand-new
+tie, and with the refractory kink in his hair well flattened down by
+brilliantine.
+
+She wanted her mother; she wanted her mother desperately; she wanted to
+be kissed and made much of by someone who really wanted her to be
+happy.  Tears smarted in her eyes, but she would not let them fall.
+Her throat ached with repressed sobs as she took the brand-new quill
+pen from the white hand extended to her, with a little shy:
+
+"Thank you."
+
+Sangster came forward.
+
+"Shall I take care of it for you, Mrs. Challoner?  We must tie a white
+bow round it, shall we?  You will like to keep it, I am sure."
+
+Christine turned to him eagerly.  He spoke so kindly; his eyes looked
+at her with such sympathy.  A big tear splashed down on the bosom of
+her black frock.
+
+She was all in black, poor little Christine, save for white gloves, and
+some white flowers which Jimmy had sent her to carry.  She tried to
+smile and answer Sangster when he spoke to her, but the words died away
+in her throat.
+
+The gloomy London church depressed her; her own voice and Jimmy's had
+echoed hollowly behind them as they made their responses; her hand had
+shaken badly when she gave it to him to put on her wedding ring.
+
+She was married now; she looked at Jimmy appealingly.
+
+Jimmy was very flushed; when he spoke his voice sounded high and
+reckless.  Christine heard him asking Sangster to come and have some
+lunch with them; he seemed most anxious that Sangster should come.
+Christine listened with a queer little sinking at her heart; she had
+wanted to be alone with Jimmy; she had so looked forward to this--their
+first meal together as husband and wife; but she bravely hid her
+disappointment.
+
+"Do come; please do," she urged him.
+
+They all left the church together.  Christine walked between the two
+men down the long aisle; she did not feel a bit as if she had been
+married; she wondered if soon she was going to wake up and find that
+she had dreamt it all.
+
+There was a taxi waiting at the church door.  She got in, and both men
+followed.  Jimmy sat beside her, but he talked to Sangster all the way.
+He was terribly nervous; he kept twisting and torturing the new pair of
+grey gloves which he had never put on; they were all out of shape and
+creased long before taxi stopped again at the quiet restaurant where
+they were to lunch.
+
+Christine looked at Jimmy.
+
+"What can I do with my flowers?  I--everybody will know if I take them
+in with me."  She blushed as she spoke.  Jimmy's own face caught the
+reflection from hers.
+
+"Oh, leave 'em in the taxi," he said awkwardly.  "I'll tell the chap to
+come back for us in an hour."
+
+He surreptitiously stuffed the new gloves into a coat pocket; he tried
+to look as if there were nothing very unusual about any of them as he
+led the way in.
+
+Christine hardly ate anything; she was shy and unhappy.  The kind
+efforts which Sangster made to make her feel at her ease added to her
+embarrassment.  She missed her mother more and more as the moments fled
+away; she was on the verge of a breakdown when at last the interminable
+meal was ended.
+
+She had hardly touched the champagne with which Jimmy had insisted on
+filling her glass; there were two empty bottles on the table, and she
+wondered mechanically who had drunk it all.
+
+Sangster bade her "good-bye" as they left the restaurant; he held her
+hand for a moment, and looked into her eyes.
+
+"I hope you will be very happy; I am sure you will."
+
+Christine tried to thank him; she wished he were not going to leave
+them; she had not wanted him to come with them in the first place, but
+now she was conscious only of a desire to keep him there.  Her heart
+pounded in her throat as he turned away; she looked apprehensively at
+Jimmy--her husband now.
+
+He was looking very smart, she thought with a little thrill of pride;
+she was sure he was quite the best-looking man she had ever seen.  He
+was talking to Sangster, but she could not hear what either of them was
+saying.
+
+"Be good to her, Jimmy . . . she's such a child."
+
+That was what Sangster was saying; and Jimmy--well, Jimmy flushed
+uncomfortably as he answered with a sort of bravado:
+
+"Don't be a silly old ass!  Do you think I'm going to beat her?"
+
+Then it was all over, and Christine and Jimmy were driving away
+together.
+
+Jimmy looked at her with a nervous smile.
+
+"Well--we're married," he said eloquently.
+
+"Yes."  She raised her beautiful eyes to his face; her heart was
+throbbing happily.  Unconsciously she made a little movement towards
+him.
+
+Jimmy put out his hand and let down the window with a run.
+
+"Jove! isn't it hot!" he said.
+
+He was beginning to wonder if he had drunk too much champagne; he
+passed his silk handkerchief over his flushed face.
+
+"I thought it was rather cold," said Christine timidly.
+
+He frowned.
+
+"Does that mean that you want the window up?"  He did not mean to speak
+sharply; but he was horribly nervous, and Sangster's parting words had
+not improved matters at all.
+
+Christine burst into tears; she was overstrung and excited; her nerves
+were all to pieces; she sobbed for a moment desolately.
+
+Jimmy swore under his breath; he did not know what to do.  After a
+moment he touched her--he pressed his silk handkerchief into her
+shaking hands.
+
+"Don't cry," he said constrainedly.  "People will think I've been
+unkind to you . . . already!" he added with a nervous laugh.
+
+She mopped her eyes obediently; she felt frightened.
+
+The horrible feeling that Jimmy was a stranger came back to her afresh.
+Oh, was this the kind boy lover who had been so good to her that day
+her mother died--the kind lover who had taken her in his arms and told
+her that she had him, that he would never leave her?
+
+She longed so for just one word--one sign of affection; but Jimmy only
+sat there, hot and uncomfortable and silent.
+
+After a moment:
+
+"Better?" he asked.
+
+"Yes . . ."  She tried to control herself; she stammered a little
+shamed apology.  "I'm so sorry--Jimmy."
+
+He patted her hand.
+
+"That's all right."
+
+She took courage; she looked into his face.
+
+"And you do--oh, you do love me?" she whispered.
+
+"Of course I do."  He put an awkward arm round her; he pressed her head
+to his shoulder, so that she could not see his face.  "Of course I do,"
+he said again.  "Don't you worry--we're going to be awfully happy."  He
+kissed her cheek.
+
+Christine turned and put her arms round his neck; she was only a child
+still--she saw no reason at all why she should not let Jimmy know how
+very much she loved him.
+
+"Oh, I do love you--I do," she said softly.
+
+Jimmy coloured hotly; he felt an uncontrollable longing to kick
+himself; he kissed her again with furtive haste.
+
+"That's all right, dear," he said.
+
+They had arranged to stay a week in London.
+
+Christine liked London.  "And we couldn't very well do anything very
+much, could we?"  So she had appealed to him wistfully.  "When
+mother----"  She had not been able to go on.
+
+Jimmy had agreed hastily to anything; he had chosen a very quiet and
+select hotel, and taken a suite of rooms.  He did not know how on earth
+they were going to be paid for; he was counting on an extra cheque from
+the Great Horatio as a wedding present.  He was relieved when the taxi
+stopped at the hotel; he got out with a sigh; he turned to give his
+hand to Christine; his heart smote him as he looked at her.
+
+Sangster was right when he had called her "such a child."  She looked
+very young as she stood there in the afternoon sunshine, in her black
+frock, and with her white flowers clasped nervously in both hands.
+Jimmy felt conscious of a lump in his throat.
+
+"Come along, dear," he said very gently; he put his hand through her
+arm.  They went into the hotel together.
+
+Christine went upstairs with one of the maids.  Jimmy said he would
+come up presently for tea; he went into the smoking-room and rang for a
+brandy and soda.  For the first time in his life he was genuinely
+afraid of what he had done; he knew now that he cared nothing for
+Christine.  It was a terrifying thought.
+
+And she had nobody but him--the responsibility of her whole life lay on
+his shoulders; it made him hot to think of it.
+
+He tossed the brandy and soda off at a gulp.  He looked at his watch;
+half-past four.  They had been married only two hours; and he had got
+to spend all the rest of his life with her.
+
+Poor little Christine--it was not her fault.  He had asked her to marry
+him; he meant to be good to her.  A servant came to the door.
+
+"Mrs. Challoner said would I tell you that tea is served upstairs in
+the sitting-room, sir."
+
+Jimmy squared his shoulders; he tried to look as if there had been a
+Mrs. Challoner for fifty years; but the sound of Christine's new name
+made his heart sink.
+
+"Oh--er--thanks," he said as carelessly as he could.  "I'll go up."  He
+waited a few moments, then he went slowly up the stairs, feeling very
+much as if he were going to be executed.
+
+He stood for a moment on the landing outside the door of the private
+sitting-room, with an absurdly schoolboyish air of bashfulness.
+
+He passed a hand nervously over the back of his head; he wriggled his
+collar; twice he took a step forward and stopped again; finally the
+appearance of a servant along the corridor drove him to make up his
+mind.  He opened the door with a rush.
+
+Christine was standing over by the window; the afternoon sunshine fell
+on her slim, black-robed figure and brown hair.  She turned quickly as
+Jimmy Challoner entered.
+
+"Tea has been up some minutes; I hope it's not cold."
+
+"I like it cold," said Jimmy.
+
+As a matter of fact, he hated tea at any time, and never drank it if it
+could be avoided; but he sat down with as good a grace as he could
+muster, and took a cup from her hand with its new ring--his ring.
+Jimmy Challoner glanced at it and away again.
+
+"Nice room this--eh?" he asked.
+
+"Yes."  Christine had sugared her own cup three times without knowing
+it; she took a cake from the stand, and dropped it nervously.  Jimmy
+laughed; a boyish laugh of amusement that seemed to break the ice.
+
+"Anyone would think you had never seen me before," he said, with an
+attempt to put her at her ease.  "And I've known you all your life!"
+
+"I know; but----"  She looked at him with very flushed cheeks.  "I'm
+afraid, Jimmy--afraid that you'll find you've made a mistake; afraid
+that you'll find I'm too young and--silly."
+
+"You're not to call the lady I have married rude names."
+
+"But it's true," she faltered.  She put down the cup and went over to
+where he sat.  She stood with her hands clasped behind her, looking
+down at him with a sort of fond humility.
+
+"I do love you, Jimmy," she said softly.  "And I will--I will try to be
+the sort of wife you want."
+
+Jimmy tried to answer her, but somehow the words stuck in his throat.
+She was not the sort of wife he wanted, and never would be.  That
+thought filled his mind.  All the willingness in the world could not
+endow her with Cynthia's eyes, Cynthia's voice, Cynthia's caressing way
+of saying, "Dear old boy."
+
+He choked back a big sigh; he found Christine's hand and raised it to
+his lips.
+
+"We shall get along swimmingly," he said with an effort.  "Don't you
+worry your little head."
+
+But she was not satisfied.
+
+"I must be so different from all the other women you are used to," she
+told him wistfully.  "I'm not smart or amusing--and I don't dress as
+well as they do."
+
+Jimmy smiled.
+
+"Well, one can always buy clothes," he said.  A sudden wave of
+tenderness swept through his heart as he looked at her.  "Anyway,
+you've got one pull over all of them," he said with momentary sentiment.
+
+"Have I--Jimmy!  What do you mean?"
+
+He kissed her trembling little fingers again.
+
+"You were my first love," he said with a touch of embarrassment.  "And
+it's not many men who can claim to have married their first love."
+
+Christine was quite happy now; she bent and kissed him before she went
+back to her seat.  Jimmy felt considerably cheered.  If she were as
+easily pleased as this, life would not be the difficult thing that he
+had imagined, he told himself.  He selected a chocolate cake--suitably
+heart-shaped--and began to munch it with a sort of relish.
+
+"How would you like to run over to Paris for a few days--later on, of
+course, I mean?" he added hastily, meeting her eyes.  It would be
+rather fun showing Christine round Paris, he thought.  He looked at her
+with a twinkle.
+
+She was very pretty, anyway; he was proud of her, too, deep down in his
+heart.  No doubt after a bit they would be quite happy together.
+
+He finished the chocolate cake, and asked if he might smoke; he was
+longing for a cigarette.  He was not quite sure if it would be correct
+to smoke in a room which would be chiefly used by Christine.  With
+Cynthia things had been so different--she smoked endless cigarettes
+herself; there was never any need to ask permission of her.
+
+He could not imagine Christine with a cigarette between her pretty
+lips.  And yet--yet he had liked it with Cynthia.  Odd how different
+women were.
+
+"Please do smoke," said Christine.  She was glad he had asked her; glad
+that for the rest of his life whenever he smoked a cigarette, it would
+not merely be Jimmy Challoner blowing puffs of smoke into the air, but
+her husband.  She glowed at the thought.
+
+Jimmy was much more happy now; to his own way of thinking he was
+getting on by leaps and bounds.  He went over and sat on the arm of
+Christine's chair; another moment and he would have put an arm round
+her, but a soft, apologetic tapping at the door sent him flying away
+from her to the other side of the room.
+
+He was carefully turning the pages of a book when he answered, "Come
+in," with elaborate carelessness.  One of the hotel servants entered;
+he carried a letter on a tray; he handed it to Christine.
+
+"A messenger from the Sunderland Hotel has just brought this, madam.
+He told me to say that it has been there two days, but they did not
+know till this morning where to send it on to you."
+
+Christine's face quivered.  She did not want to think of the
+Sunderland; her mother had died there; it would always be associated in
+her mind with the great tragedy of her life.  She took the letter
+hesitatingly; she did not know the writing.  She waited till the
+servant had gone before she opened it.
+
+Jimmy was still turning the leaves of the railway guide feverishly.  At
+the shutting of the door he turned with a sigh of relief.
+
+"A letter?"  Christine was drawing the paper from its envelope; pink
+paper, smelling faintly of lilies.  Jimmy lit a fresh cigarette.  He
+walked over to the window and stood looking into the street; a horribly
+respectable street it was, he thought impatiently, of good-class
+houses, with windows neatly curtained and knockers carefully polished.
+
+He was really quite anxious to kiss Christine; he was wondering whether
+she, too, was anxious for him to kiss her.  After a moment he turned a
+little, and looked at her tentatively.
+
+But Christine was not looking at him; she was sitting with her eyes
+fixed straight in front of her, a frozen look of horror on her little
+face.  The letter had tumbled from her lap to the floor.
+
+"Christine!" said Jimmy sharply.  He was really alarmed; he took a big
+stride over to where she sat; he shook her.  "Christine--what has
+happened?  What is the matter?"
+
+She looked at him then; she turned her beautiful eyes to his face, and
+at sight of them Jimmy caught his breath hard.
+
+"Oh, Christine!" he said almost in a whisper.
+
+His thoughts sped back incongruously to a day in the years that had
+gone; when he and she had been children together down in the country at
+Upton House.
+
+He had stolen a gun belonging to the Great Horatio, and they had crept
+out into the woods together--he and she--to shoot rabbits, as he had
+confidently told her; and instead--oh, instead they had shot
+Christine's favourite dog Ruler.
+
+All his life Jimmy remembered the broken-hearted look in Christine's
+eyes when she flung herself down by the fast-stiffening body of her
+favourite.  And now she was looking like that again; looking at him as
+if he had broken her heart--as if----  Jimmy Challoner backed a step;
+his face had paled.
+
+"In God's name, what is it--what is it?"
+
+And then he saw the letter lying there on the floor between them in all
+its brazen pinkness.  The faint scent of lilies was wafted to his brain
+before he stooped and grabbed it up.  He held it at arm's length while
+he read it, as if already its writer had become repellent to him.
+There was a long, long silence.
+
+The letter had been written two days ago.  Jimmy realised dully that
+Cynthia must have gone straight from his rooms that evening and sent
+it; realised that it had been lying at the hotel where Mrs. Wyatt died
+until now.
+
+Perhaps Cynthia Farrow had not realised what she was doing--perhaps she
+judged all women by her own standard; but surely even she would have
+been more than satisfied with the results could she have seen
+Christine's face as she sat there in the big, silent room, with the
+afternoon sunshine streaming around her.
+
+Twice Jimmy tried to speak, but no words would come; he felt as if
+rough hands were at his throat, choking him, squeezing the life out of
+his body, Then suddenly he fell on his knees beside his wife.
+
+"Christine--for God's sake----"  He tried to take her in his arms, but
+she moved away; shrank back from him as if in terror, hiding her face
+and moaning--moaning.
+
+"Christine . . ."  There was a sob in Jimmy Challoner's voice now; he
+broke out stammeringly.  "Don't believe it--it's all lies.  I'd give my
+soul to undo it--if only you'd never seen it.  I swear to you on my
+word of honour that I'll never see her again.  I'll do any mortal
+thing, anything in the wide world, if only you'll look at me--if you'll
+forgive me----  Oh, for God's sake, say you forgive me----"
+
+Her hands fell from her face; for a moment her eyes sought his.
+
+"Then--then it _is_ true!" she said faintly.
+
+"Yes.  I can't tell you a lie about it--it _is_ true.  I _did--did_
+love her.  I was--engaged to her; but it's all over.  I swear to you
+that it's all over and done with.  I'll never see her again--I'll be so
+good to you."  She hardly seemed to hear.
+
+"Then you never really loved me?" she asked after a moment.  "It wasn't
+because--because you loved me?"
+
+"N-no."  He got to his feet again; he strode up and down the room
+agitatedly.  He had spoken truly enough when he said that he would have
+given his soul to undo these last few moments.
+
+Presently he came back to where she sat--this poor little wife of his.
+
+"Forgive me, dear," he said, very humbly.  "I--I ask your pardon on my
+knees--and--it isn't too late; we've got all our lives before us.
+We'll go right away somewhere--you and I--out of London.  We'll never
+come back."
+
+She echoed his words painfully.
+
+"_You and I?  I--I can't go anywhere--ever--with you--now!_"
+
+He broke into anger.
+
+"You're talking utter nonsense; you must be mad.  You've married
+me--you're my wife.  You'll have to come with me--to do as I tell you.
+I--oh, confound it----!"  He broke off, realising how dictatorial his
+voice had grown.  He paced away from her again, and again came back.
+
+"Look at me, Christine."  She raised her eyes obediently.  The hot
+blood rushed to Jimmy's face.  He wondered if It were only his fancy,
+or if there were really scorn in their soft brownness.  He tried to
+speak, but broke off.  Christine rose to her feet; she passed the pink
+letter as if she had not seen it; she walked to the door.
+
+"Where are you going?" asked Jimmy sharply.
+
+She looked back at him.  "I don't know.  I--oh, please leave me alone,"
+she added piteously as he would have followed her.
+
+He let her go then; he waited till the door had shut, then he snatched
+up Cynthia's letter once again, and read it through.
+
+It was an abominable thing to have done, he told himself--abominable;
+and yet, as he read the skilfully penned words, his vain man's heart
+beat a little faster at the knowledge that she still loved him, this
+woman who had thrown him over so heartlessly; she still loved him,
+though it was too late.  The faint scent of the lilies which her
+note-paper always carried brought back the memory of her with painful
+vividness.  Before he was conscious of it, Jimmy had lifted the letter
+to his lips.
+
+He flung it from him immediately in honest disgust; he despised himself
+because he could not forget her; he tried to imagine what Christine
+must be thinking--be suffering.  With sudden impulse he tore open the
+door; he went across to her room--their room; he tried the handle
+softly.  It was locked.
+
+"Christine!"  But there was no answer.  He called again: "Christine!"
+And now he heard her voice.
+
+"Go away; please go away."  An angry flush dyed his face.  After all,
+she was his wife; it was absurd to make this fuss.  After all,
+everything had happened before he proposed to her; it was all over and
+done with.  It was her duty to overlook the past.
+
+He listened a moment; he wondered if anyone would hear if he ordered
+her to let him in--if he threatened to break the door down.
+
+He could hear her crying now; hear the deep, pitiful sobs that must be
+shaking her whole slender body.
+
+"Christine!"  But there was nothing very masterful in the way he spoke
+her name; his voice only sounded very shamed and humiliated as, after
+waiting a vain moment for her reply, he turned and went slowly away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+SANGSTER IS CONSULTED
+
+Jimmy had been married two days when one morning he burst into
+Sangster's room in the unfashionable part of Bloomsbury.
+
+It had been raining heavily.  London looked grey and dismal; even the
+little fat sparrows who twittered all day long in the boughs of a
+stunted tree outside the window of Sangster's modest sitting-room had
+given up trying to be cheerful, and were huddled together under the
+leaves.
+
+Sangster was in his shirt-sleeves and old carpet slippers, writing,
+when Jimmy entered.  He looked up disinterestedly, then rose to his
+feet.
+
+"You! good heavens!"
+
+"Yes--me," said Jimmy ungrammatically.  He threw his hat on to the
+horsehair sofa, which seemed to be the most important piece of
+furniture in the room, and dropped into a chair.  "Got a cigarette?  My
+case is empty."
+
+Sangster produced his own; it was brown leather, and shabby; very
+different from the silver and enamel absurdity which Jimmy Challoner
+invariably carried.
+
+After a moment:
+
+"Well?" said Sangster.  There was a touch of anxiety in his kindly
+eyes, though he tried to speak cheerfully.  "Well, how goes it--and the
+little wife?"
+
+Jimmy growled something unintelligible.  He threw the freshly lit
+cigarette absently into the fireplace instead of the spent match, swore
+under his breath, and grabbed it back again.
+
+Suddenly he sprang to his feet.
+
+"I've made the devil's own mess of it all," he said violently.
+
+Sangster made no comment; he put down his pen, pushed his chair back a
+little and waited.
+
+Jimmy blew an agitated puff of smoke into the air and blurted out
+again: "She says she won't stay with me; she says----"  He threw out
+his hands agitatedly.  "It wasn't my fault; I swear to you that it
+wasn't my fault, Sangster.  Things were going swimmingly, and then the
+letter came--and that finished it."  He was incoherent--stammering; but
+Sangster seemed to understand.
+
+"Cynthia Farrow?" he asked briefly.
+
+"Yes.  The letter was sent on from the hotel where Christine had been
+staying with her mother.  It had been delayed two days, as the people
+didn't know where she was."  He swallowed hard, as if choking back a
+bitter memory.  "It came about an hour after we left you."
+
+"On your wedding day?"  Sangster was flushed now; his eyes looked very
+distressed.
+
+Jimmy turned away.
+
+"Yes," he said in a stifled voice.  "If I'd only seen the accursed
+thing--but I didn't; she opened it, and then----"  There was a long
+pause before he went on again jerkily.  "I did my best--even then--but
+she wouldn't believe me; she doesn't believe me now.  I swore that I'd
+never see Cynthia again; I swore that I'd do anything in the whole
+world she wanted----"
+
+"Except the one thing which you cannot do, I suppose," Sangster
+interposed quietly.
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Love her," said Sangster.  "That's what I mean."
+
+Jimmy tried to laugh; It was a miserable failure.  "She's hardly spoken
+to me since," he went on, after a moment, wretchedly.  "I've--oh, I've
+had a devil of a time these last two days, I can tell you.  I can't get
+her to come out with me--she hardly leaves her room; she just cries and
+cries," he added with a sort of weariness.  "Just keeps on saying she
+wants her mother--she wants her mother."
+
+"Poor little girl."
+
+"Yes--that's how I feel," said Jimmy.  "It's--it's perfectly rotten,
+isn't it?  And she looks so ill, too. . . .  What did you say?"
+
+"I didn't say anything."
+
+"Well, then, I wish to God you would," said Jimmy with sudden rage.
+"I'm about fed-up with life, I can tell you----"  He broke off.  "Oh, I
+don't mean that; but I'm worried to death.  I--what the devil _can_ I
+do?" he asked helplessly.
+
+Sangster did not know how to answer; he sat staring down at the worn
+toes of his carpet slippers and thinking of Christine.
+
+She was such a child, and she loved Jimmy so much.  It made his heart
+ache to think of the shy happiness he had always read in her eyes
+whenever she looked at Jimmy.
+
+"Of course, I shouldn't have told you, only I know you won't say a
+word," said Jimmy presently.  "I--I stood it as long as I could; I
+stood it till I felt as if I should go mad, and then I bolted off here
+to you. . . .  She's got nobody but me, you see."  He drew a long
+breath.  "I only wish to God Mrs. Wyatt were alive," he added earnestly.
+
+Sangster said nothing.  "I wondered if, perhaps, you'd go round and see
+her, old chap," Jimmy jerked out then.  "She likes you.  Of course, you
+needn't say you'd seen me.  Couldn't you 'phone up or something?  Get
+her to go out. . . .  She'll die if someone can't rouse her."
+
+Sangster coloured.
+
+"I--I'm not good at that sort of thing, Jimmy.  It's not that I'm
+unwilling to help you; I'd do anything----"
+
+"Well, then, try it; there's a good chap.  You--you were so decent to
+her that day Mrs. Wyatt died; you've got a sort of way that I haven't.
+I--I should be no end obliged.  I'll--I'll keep out of the way myself
+for a bit, and then----"  He looked anxiously at his friend.  "Will you
+go?"
+
+"She probably won't see me if I do."
+
+"She will.  She's sick of the sight of me."
+
+Sangster smiled in spite of himself.  He got up, stretching his arms;
+he shook his head at Jimmy.
+
+"Oh, I know what you're thinking," said Jimmy savagely.  "But I swear
+to you that it's not my fault this time, anyway.  I swear to you that
+I've done my best.  I----"
+
+"I'm not doubting it," said Sangster dryly.  He fetched his hat and
+coat from a room adjoining, and they went out into the street together.
+
+"Take her out to lunch," said Jimmy nervously.  "Take her for a walk in
+the park--try to rouse her a bit; but for heaven's sake don't talk
+about me."
+
+He looked anxious and worried; he really was very upset; but he was
+conscious of an enormous sense of relief as he and Sangster parted at
+the street corner.  As soon as Sangster was out of sight he hailed a
+taxi, and told the man to drive him to his club.  He ordered a stiff
+brandy and soda, and dropped into one of the deep leathern arm-chairs
+with a sigh.  He had been married only three days, and already it
+seemed like three years.  Of course, he was not blaming Christine, poor
+little girl; but--oh, if only she hadn't been quite such a child!
+
+He lifted the glass, and looked at its contents with lugubrious eyes.
+
+"Well, here's to a brighter future," said Jimmy Challoner drearily; but
+he sighed heavily as he tossed off the brandy and soda.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Sangster felt decidedly nervous when he reached the hotel where Jimmy
+and his wife were staying.  He had no faith in his own powers, though
+apparently Jimmy had plenty for him; he was no ladies' man; he had
+never troubled about a woman in his life, probably because none had
+ever troubled about him.  He asked punctiliously for Jimmy; it was only
+when told that Mr. Challoner was out that he asked for Christine.
+
+A little gleam of something like sympathy shot into the man's eyes.
+The chambermaid who waited on Christine was voluble, and a friend of
+his, and he had heard a great deal from her that was untrue, mixed up
+with a smattering of truth.
+
+He said that he was sure Mrs. Challoner was in; he sent a page-boy up
+with Sangster's card.
+
+It seemed a long time before the reply came.  Mrs. Challoner would be
+pleased to see Mr. Sangster; would he go up to her sitting-room.
+
+Sangster obeyed reluctantly; he dreaded tears; he dreaded to see grief
+and disillusionment in the beautiful eyes which he could only remember
+as happy and trusting.  He waited nervously till she came to him.  He
+looked round the room apprehensively; it had an empty, unlived-in look
+about it, though there were various possessions of Jimmy's scattered
+about it--a pipe, newspapers, and a large box of cigarettes.  There was
+a small pair of Christine's slippers, too, with high heels.  Sangster
+looked at them with eyes which he did not know were tender.  They
+seemed to appeal to him somehow; there was such a solitary look about
+them, standing there in a corner by themselves.
+
+Then the door opened and she came in; a little pale ghost of the girl
+whom he had last seen, with quivering lips that tried to smile, and
+shadows beneath her eyes.
+
+It was an effort to Sangster to greet her as if he were unconscious of
+the tragedy in her face; he took her hand in a close grip.
+
+"I am so glad you allowed me to come up; I didn't want to intrude; I
+asked for Jimmy, but they told me he was out, and so I wondered if you
+would see me--just for a moment."
+
+"I am very glad you came; I"--she bit her lip--"I don't think Jimmy
+will be back to lunch," she said.
+
+"Capital!"  Sangster tried to speak naturally; he laughed.  "Then will
+you come out to lunch with me?  Jimmy won't mind, and----"
+
+"Oh, no, Jimmy won't mind."  There was such bitterness in her voice
+that for a moment it shocked him into silence; she looked at him with
+burning eyes.  "Jimmy wouldn't mind no matter what I did," she said,
+almost as if the words were forced from her against her will.  "Oh, Mr.
+Sangster, why did you let him marry me?--you must have known.  Jimmy
+doesn't care any more for me than--than you do."
+
+There was a tragic pause.  She did not cry; she just looked at him with
+broken-hearted eyes.
+
+"Oh, my dear; don't--don't say that," said Sangster in distress.
+
+He took her hand and held it clumsily between his own.  Her words had
+been like a reproach.  Was he to blame? he asked himself remorsefully;
+and yet--what could he have done?  Christine would not have believed
+him had he tried to tell her.
+
+"It's true," she said dully.  "It's true . . . and now I haven't got
+anybody in all the world."
+
+Sangster did not know what to answer.  He broke out awkwardly that
+things were always difficult at first; that Jimmy was really one of the
+best; that if only she would have a little patience, everything would
+come right; he was sure of it.
+
+But she only shook her head.
+
+"I ought to have known; I can't think now why it is that I never
+guessed," she said hopelessly.  "All the other women he has known are
+so much better than I am."
+
+"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't say that," he broke out; there was a sort
+of horror in his face as he contrasted Cynthia and her friends to this
+girl.  "You're ill and run down," he went on urgently.  "Everything
+seems wrong when you're not well.  Will you come out with me?  It's not
+raining now, and the air's beautifully fresh.  I'm longing for a walk
+myself; I've been writing all the morning.  We'll have some lunch
+together, and walk in the park afterwards, shall we?"
+
+He thought she was going to refuse; she shook her head.
+
+"Please do," he urged.  "I want to talk to you; there are so many
+things I want to say to you."  He waited a moment.  "You told me once
+that you liked me," he submitted whimsically.  "You've not gone back on
+that, have you?"
+
+The ghost of a smile lit her eyes.
+
+"No, but----"
+
+"Then please come."
+
+There was a moment's silence.
+
+"Very well," said Christine.  Her voice was quite apathetic.  He knew
+that she was absolutely indifferent as to where she went or what she
+did.  She looked so broken--just as if someone had wiped the sunshine
+out of her life with a ruthless hand.
+
+She went away to dress, and Sangster stood at the window, frowning into
+the street.
+
+"Infernal young fool!" he said savagely after a moment; but whether he
+referred to a youth who was just at that moment passing, or to Jimmy
+Challoner, seemed uncertain.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+CHRISTINE HEARS THE TRUTH
+
+Sangster took Christine to a little out-of-the-way restaurant, where he
+knew there would not be many people.
+
+He carefully avoided referring again to Jimmy; he talked of anything
+and everything under the sun to try and distract her attention.  She
+had declared that she was not hungry; but, to his delight, she ate
+quite a good lunch.  She liked the restaurant; she had never been in
+Bohemia before.  She was very interested in an old table Sangster
+showed her, which was carved all over with the signatures of well-known
+patrons of the house.  A little flush crept into her pale cheeks;
+presently she was smiling.
+
+Sangster was cheered; he told himself that she only needed
+understanding.  He believed that if Jimmy chose, he could convince her
+that everything was going to be all right in the future; he believed
+that with a little tact and patience Jimmy could entirely regain her
+lost confidence.  But patience and Jimmy seemed somehow irreconcilable;
+Jimmy was too young--too selfish.  He sighed involuntarily as he looked
+at Christine.
+
+When they had left the restaurant again, and were walking towards the
+park, he deliberately began to talk about Jimmy.
+
+"I suppose Jimmy never told you how he and I first met, did he?" he
+asked.
+
+"No."  Her sensitive little face flushed; she looked up at him eagerly.
+
+"It isn't a bit romantic really," he said.  "At least, not from my
+point of view; but I dare say you would be interested, because it shows
+what a fine chap Jimmy really is."  He took it for granted that she was
+listening.  He went on: "It was some years ago now, of course--five
+years, I think; and I was broke--broke to the wide, if you know what
+that means!"  He glanced down at her smilingly.  "I'm by way of being a
+struggling journalist, you know," he explained.  "More of the
+struggling than the journalist.  I'm not a bit of good at the job, to
+be quite candid; but it's a life I like--and lately I've managed to
+scrape along quite decently.  Anyhow, at the time I met Jimmy I was
+down and out . . .  Fleet Street would have none of me, and I even had
+to pawn my watch."
+
+"Oh!" said Christine with soft sympathy.
+
+Sangster laughed.
+
+"That's nothing; it's been pawned fifty times since it first came into
+my possession, I should think.  Don't think I'm asking for
+sympathy--I'm not.  It's the sort of life that suits me, and I wouldn't
+change it for another--even if I had the chance.  But the night I ran
+across Jimmy I was fairly up against it.  I hadn't had a square meal
+for a week, and I was ill to add to the trouble.  Jimmy was coming
+along Pall Mall in evening-dress.  He was smoking a cigar that smelt
+good, and I wondered as he passed me if I dared go up and ask him for a
+shilling."
+
+"Oh, Mr. Sangster!"  He looked down hearing the distress in her voice.
+
+"Don't look so sorry!" he said very gently.  "It's all in a day's march
+for me.  I've had my good times, and I've had my bad; and when I come
+to write the story of my life--when I'm a bloated millionaire, that
+is!" he added in laughing parenthesis--"it will make fine reading to
+know that I was once so hard up that I cadged a shilling off a swell in
+evening-dress!"
+
+But Christine did not laugh; her eyes were almost tragic as she looked
+up wonderingly at Sangster's honest face.
+
+"And--and did you ask him?" she questioned.
+
+"Did I not!" said Sangster heartily.  "I went up to him--Jimmy stopped
+dead, I believe he thought I was going to pinch his watch--and I said,
+'Will you be a sport and lend me a bob?'  Not a bit romantic, you see!"
+
+Christine caught her breath.
+
+"And did he--did he?" she asked eagerly.
+
+Sangster laughed reminiscently.
+
+"You'll never guess what he said.  He asked no questions, he took the
+cigar from his lips and looked at me, and he said, 'I haven't got a bob
+in the world till my brother, the Great Horatio, sends my monthly
+allowance along; but if you'll come as far as the next street, I know a
+chap I can borrow a sovereign from.'  Wasn't that just Jimmy all over?"
+
+Christine was laughing, too, now.
+
+"Oh, I can just hear him saying it!  I can just see him!" she cried.
+"And then what did you do?"
+
+"Well, we went along--to this pal of Jimmy's, and Jimmy borrowed a
+fiver.  He gave me three pounds, and took me along to have a dinner.
+And--well, we've been pals ever since.  A bit of luck for me, wasn't
+it?"
+
+"I was thinking," said little Christine very earnestly, "that it was a
+bit of luck for Jimmy."
+
+Sangster grew furiously red.  For a moment he could think of nothing to
+say; he had only told the story in order to soften her towards Jimmy,
+and in a measure he had succeeded.
+
+Christine walked beside him without speaking for some time; her brown
+eyes were very thoughtful.
+
+Sangster talked no more of Jimmy; he was too tactful to overdo things.
+Jimmy was not mentioned between them again till he took her back to the
+hotel.  Then:
+
+"I don't know how to thank you for being so kind to me," she said
+earnestly.  Her brown eyes were lifted confidingly to his face.  "But
+I've been happier this afternoon than--than I've ever been since my
+mother died."
+
+Sangster gripped her hand hard for a moment.
+
+"And you will be happy--always--if you're just a little patient," he
+said, rather huskily.  "Jimmy's a spoilt boy, and--and--it's the women
+who have to show all of us--eh?  It's the women who are our guardian
+angels; remember that!"
+
+He hated himself for having had to blame her, even mildly, when the
+fault was so utterly and entirely Jimmy's.  It seemed a monstrous thing
+that Christine should have to teach Jimmy unselfishness; he hoped he
+had not said too much.
+
+But Christine was really much happier, had he known it.  She went up to
+her room, and changed her frock for one of the few simple ones she had
+had new when she was married.  She did her hair in a way she thought
+Jimmy would like; she sent one of the servants out for flowers to
+brighten the little sitting-room; she timidly ordered what she thought
+would be an extra nice dinner to please him.  The waiter looked at her
+questioningly.
+
+"For--for two, madam?" he asked hesitatingly.
+
+"Yes, please.  Mr. Challoner and I will dine up here this evening."
+
+As a rule, Jimmy dined downstairs alone, and Christine had something
+sent up to her.  She was vaguely beginning to realise now how foolish
+she had been.  The little time she had spent with Sangster had been
+like the opening of a door in her poor little heart, letting in fresh
+air and common sense.  After all, how could she hope to win Jimmy by
+tears and recriminations?  She had heard the doctrine of "forgive and
+forget" preached so frequently; surely this was the moment in which to
+apply it to herself and him.
+
+Her heart beat a little fast at the thought.  She spoke again to the
+waiter as he turned to leave the room.
+
+"And--and will you find out what wine Mr. Challoner has with his
+dinner, as a rule; and--and serve the same this evening."
+
+The man hesitated, then:
+
+"Mr. Challoner told me he should not be dining in this evening, madam,"
+he said reluctantly.  "He came in about three o'clock, and went out
+again; I think there was a message for him.  He told me to tell you if
+you came in."  He averted his eyes from Christine's blanching face as
+he spoke.  "I am sure that is what Mr. Challoner said, madam," he
+repeated awkwardly.
+
+"Oh, very well."  Christine stood quite still in the empty room when he
+had gone; it seemed all the more lonely and empty, now that once again
+she had been robbed of her eager hopes.
+
+Jimmy was not coming home.  Jimmy found her so dull and uninteresting
+that he was only too glad of an excuse to stay out.
+
+She wondered where he had gone; whom the message had been from.
+
+A sudden crimson stain dyed her cheek. . . .  Cynthia Farrow!
+
+She tried hard to stamp the thought out of existence--tried hard to
+push it from her but it was useless.  It grew and grew in her agonised
+mind till she could think of nothing else.  She walked about the room,
+wringing her hands.
+
+If Jimmy had gone to Cynthia, that was the end of everything.  She
+could never forgive this.  If Jimmy had gone to Cynthia, she hoped that
+she would die before she ever saw him again.
+
+She could not believe that she had ever talked to him of Cynthia--that
+she had ever admired her, or thought her beautiful.  She hated her
+now--hated her for the very charms that had so hopelessly captivated
+the man she loved.  If Jimmy had gone to Cynthia . . . she stood still,
+fighting hard for self-control.
+
+She tried to remember what Sangster had said:
+
+"Jimmy is such a boy; give him a chance."  And here she was already
+condemning him without a hearing.
+
+She bit her lips till they bled.  She would wait till she knew; she
+would wait till she was sure--quite sure.
+
+She did her best to eat some of the dinner she had ordered, but it was
+uphill work.  Jimmy's empty chair opposite was a continual reminder of
+his absence.  Where was he? she asked herself in an agony of doubt.
+With whom was he dining whilst she was here alone?
+
+After dinner she tried to read.  She sat down by the fire, and turned
+the pages of a magazine without really seeing a line or picture.  When
+someone knocked at the door she started up eagerly, with flushing
+cheeks; but it was only the waiter with coffee and an evening paper.
+
+She asked him an anxious question:
+
+"Mr. Challoner has not come in yet?"  She tried hard to speak as if it
+were nothing out of the ordinary for Jimmy to be out.
+
+"Not yet, madam."  He set down the coffee and the evening paper and
+went quietly away.  Outside on the landing he encountered the maid who
+waited on Christine.
+
+"It's a shame--that's what it is!" the girl said warmly when he told
+her in whispered tones that Mrs. Challoner was alone again.  "A shame!
+and her only just married, the pretty dear!"
+
+She wondered what Christine was doing; she hovered round the door,
+sympathetic and longing to be able to help, and not knowing how.
+
+Christine had taken up the paper.  She did not know how to pass the
+evening; the minutes seemed to be dragging past with deliberate
+slowness.
+
+She looked at the clock--only eight!  She waited some time, then looked
+again.  Five past.  Why, surely the clock must have stopped; surely it
+must be half an hour since she had last glanced at its expressionless
+face.
+
+She sighed wearily.
+
+She had never felt so acutely alone and deserted in all her life; she
+had hardly been separated for a single day from her mother till death
+stepped in between them.  Mrs. Wyatt's constant presence had kept
+Christine young; had made her more of a child than she would have been
+had she had to look after herself.  She felt her position now the more
+acutely in consequence.
+
+"Serious accident to Miss Cynthia Farrow."  Her eyes caught the
+headline of the paragraph as she idly turned the page; she gave a
+little start.  Her hands clutched the paper convulsively.
+
+She read the few lines eagerly:
+
+
+"Miss Cynthia Farrow, the well-known actress, was the victim of a
+serious motor-car accident this afternoon.  Returning from the theatre,
+the car in which Miss Farrow was riding came into collision with a car
+owned by Mr. C. E. Hoskins, the well-known airman.  Miss Farrow was
+unfortunately thrown out, and is suffering from concussion and severe
+bruises.  Miss Farrow has been appearing at the ---- Theatre as . . . ."
+
+
+Christine read no more.  She did not care for the details of Cynthia
+Farrow's life; all she cared was that this paragraph settled for once
+and all her doubt about Jimmy.  Of course, Jimmy could not be with her
+if she were ill and unconscious.  She felt bitterly ashamed of her
+suspicion; her spirits went up like rockets; she threw the paper aside.
+The terrible load of care seemed lifted for a moment from her
+shoulders; she was asking Jimmy's pardon on her heart's knees for
+having ever dreamed that he would do such a thing after all his
+promises to her.
+
+She opened the door and looked into the corridor.  Downstairs she could
+hear a band playing in the lounge; it sounded inviting and cheery.  She
+went down the stairs and found a seat in a palm-screened corner.
+
+Jimmy had begged her to mix more with other people, and not stay in her
+room so much.  If he came in now he would be pleased to see that she
+had done as he asked her, she thought with a little thrill.
+
+She could look ahead now, and make plans for their future.  She would
+consent to leaving London at once, and going somewhere where Cynthia
+Farrow's influence had never made itself felt.  She would start all
+over again; she would be so tactful, so patient.  She would win him
+over to her; make him love her more than he had ever loved Cynthia.
+
+Her face glowed at the thought; her eyes shone like stars.  She lost
+herself in happy introspection.
+
+"Yes--rotten hard luck, isn't it?" said a voice somewhere behind her.
+"Just when she's on the crest of the wave, as you might say.  Doubtful
+if she gets over it, so I hear."
+
+Christine listened apathetically.  She wondered who the voice was
+talking about; she half turned; trying to see the speaker, but the
+palms effectually screened him.
+
+A second, less distinct voice made some remark, and the first speaker
+answered with a little laugh:
+
+"Yes--dead keen, wasn't he, poor beggar; but he wasn't rich enough for
+her.  A woman like that makes diamonds trumps every time, and not
+hearts, you know--eh?  Poor old Jimmy--he always hated Mortlake like
+the devil. . . .  She was in Mortlake's car when the smash occurred,
+you know . . .  No, I don't much think she'll marry him.  If she goes
+on at the rate she's going now, she'll be flying for higher game in a
+month or two.  I know women of that stamp--had some myself, as you
+might say. . . .  What--really! poor old chap!  Thought he only got
+married the other day."
+
+The second voice was more audible now:
+
+"So he did; some little girl from the country, I hear.  God alone knows
+why he did it. . . .  Anyway, there can't be any affection in it,
+because I happen to know that Jimmy was sent for to-night.  They said
+she asked for him as soon as she could speak. . . .  Jimmy, mark you!
+not a bob in the world. . . ."  The voice broke in a cynical laugh.
+
+Jimmy! They were talking of Jimmy--and----
+
+All the blood in her body seemed to concentrate suddenly in her heart,
+and then rush away from it, turning her faint and sick.  The many
+lights in the big lounge seemed to twinkle and go out.
+
+She pressed her feet hard to the floor; she shut her eyes.
+
+After a moment she felt better; her brain began to work again stiffly.
+
+So Jimmy was with Cynthia, after all.  Jimmy had been sent for, and
+Jimmy had gone.
+
+This was the end of everything; this was the end of all her dreams of
+happiness of the future.
+
+She sat there for a long, long time, unconscious of her surroundings;
+it was only when the band had stopped playing, and a sort of silence
+fell everywhere, that she moved stiffly and went back up the stairs to
+her own room.
+
+She stood there by the bed for a moment, looking round her with dull
+eyes; the clock on the mantel-shelf pointed to nine.
+
+Too late to go away to-night.  Was it too late?  A sudden memory leapt
+to her mind.
+
+Jimmy and she had gone down to Upton House by a train later than this
+the day after her mother died.  She tried to remember; it had been the
+nine-fifty from Euston, she was sure.  She made a rapid calculation;
+she could catch that if she was quick--catch it if she hurried.  She
+threw off her slippers; she began to collect a few things together in a
+handbag; her breath was coming fast--her heart was racing.  She would
+never come back any more--never live with him again.  She had lost her
+last shred of trust in him--she no longer loved him.
+
+She was pinning on her hat with shaking fingers when someone tried the
+handle of the door--someone called her name softly.
+
+"Christine . . ."  It was Jimmy.
+
+She stood quite still, hardly daring to breathe.  She pressed her hands
+over her lips, as if afraid that he would hear the quick beating of her
+frightened heart.
+
+"Christine . . ."  He waited a moment, then she heard him saying
+something under his breath impatiently; another second, and he turned
+away to the sitting-room opposite.
+
+She heard him moving about there for some time; she looked at the
+clock.  Almost too late to go now; a fever of impatience consumed her.
+
+If only he had not come back--if only she had gone sooner.
+
+She turned out the light, and softly, an inch at a time, opened the
+door.  There was a light burning in the sitting-room; there was a smell
+of cigarette smoke.  Jimmy was still there.
+
+She wondered if she could get away without him hearing her; she tiptoed
+back into the room, took up her bag from the bed, and crept again to
+the door.
+
+The floor seemed to creak at every step.  Half a dozen times she
+stopped, frightened; then suddenly the half-closed door of the
+sitting-room opposite opened, and Jimmy came out.
+
+He was in evening-dress; he still wore a loose overcoat.
+
+For a moment he stared at her blankly.  The lights had been lowered a
+little in the corridor, and at first he was not sure if it was she.
+Then he strode across to her and caught her by the wrist in a not very
+gentle grip.
+
+"Where are you going?" he asked roughly.
+
+She cowered back from him against the wall; her face was white, but her
+eyes blazed at him in passionate defiance.
+
+"I am going away.  Let me go.  I am never coming back any more."
+
+He half led, half dragged her into the sitting-room; he put his back to
+the door, and stood looking at her, white-faced, silent.
+
+The breath was tearing from his throat; he seemed afraid to trust
+himself to speak.
+
+Presently:
+
+"Why?" he asked hoarsely.
+
+Christine was standing against the table, one trembling hand resting on
+it; she was afraid of him and of the white passion in his face, but she
+faced him bravely.
+
+"I am never going to live with you any more.  I--I wish I had never
+seen you."
+
+Even her voice seemed to have changed; he realized it dully, and the
+knowledge added to his anger.  She no longer spoke in the
+half-trembling childish way he remembered; there was something more
+grown-up and womanly about her.
+
+"Don't be a little fool," he said roughly.  "What is the matter?  What
+have I done now?  I'm sick to death of these scenes and heroics; for
+God's sake try and behave like a rational woman.  Do you want the whole
+hotel to know that we've quarrelled?"
+
+"They know already," she told him fiercely.
+
+He came nearer to her.
+
+"Take off your hat and coat, Christine, and don't be absurd.  Why,
+we've only been married a little more than a week."  His voice was
+quieter and more gentle.  "What's the matter?  Let's sit down and talk
+things over quietly.  I've something to tell you.  I wanted to see you
+to-night; I came to your door just now."
+
+"I know--I heard you."
+
+"Very well; what's it all about?  What have I done to upset you like
+this?"
+
+She shut her eyes for a moment.  When he spoke to her so kindly it
+almost broke her heart; it brought back so vividly the boy sweetheart
+whom she had never really forgotten.  And yet this Jimmy was not the
+Jimmy she had known in those happy days, This Jimmy only looked at her
+with the same eyes; in reality he was another man--a stranger whom she
+feared and almost hated.
+
+He took her hand.
+
+"Christine--are you ill?"
+
+She opened her eyes; they were blazing.
+
+The touch of his fingers on hers seemed to drive her mad.
+
+"Yes," she said shrilly, "I am--ill because of you and your lies, and
+your hateful deception; ill because you've broken my heart and ruined
+my life.  You swore to me that you'd never see Cynthia Farrow again.
+You swore to me that it was all over and done with; and now--now----"
+
+"Yes--now," said Jimmy; his voice was hoarse and strained.  "Yes--and
+now," he said again, as she did not answer.
+
+She wrenched herself free.
+
+"You've been with her this evening.  You've left me alone here all
+these hours to be with her.  I don't count at all in your life.  I
+don't know why you married me, unless it was to--to pay her out.  I
+wish I'd never seen you.  I wish I'd died before I ever married you.  I
+wish--oh, I wish I could die now," she ended in a broken whisper.
+
+Jimmy had fallen back a step; he was no longer looking at her.  There
+was a curious expression of shocked horror in his, eyes as they stared
+past his wife into the silent room.
+
+Presently:
+
+"She's dead," he said hoarsely.  "Cynthia Farrow is dead."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+BITTERNESS
+
+"Dead!"  Christine echoed Jimmy's hoarse word in a dull voice, not
+understanding.  "Dead!" she said again blankly.
+
+He moved away from the door; he dropped into a chair and hid his face
+in his hands.
+
+There was a moment of absolute silence.
+
+Christine stared at Jimmy's bowed head with dull eyes.
+
+She was trying to force her brain to work, but she could not; she was
+only conscious of a faint sort of curiosity as to whether Jimmy were
+lying to her; but somehow he did not look as if he were.  She tried to
+speak to him, but no words would come.
+
+Suddenly he raised his head; he was very pale.  "Well?" he said
+defiantly.
+
+His eyes were hard and full of hurt; hurt because of another woman,
+Christine told herself, in furious pain; hurt because the woman he had
+really and truly loved had gone out of his life for ever.
+
+She tried to say that she was sorry, but the words seemed to choke
+her--she was not sorry; she was glad.  She was passionately glad that
+the beautiful woman whom she had at first so ardently admired was now
+only a name between them.
+
+"So you've no need to be jealous any more," said Jimmy Challoner, after
+a moment.
+
+No need to be jealous!  There was still the same need; death cannot
+take memory away with it.  Christine felt as if the dead woman were
+more certainly between them now, keeping them apart, than ever before.
+
+The silence fell again; then suddenly Christine moved to the door.
+
+Jimmy caught her hand.
+
+"Where are you going?  Don't be a little fool.  It's ever so late; you
+can't leave the hotel to-night."
+
+"I am not going to stay here with you."  She did not look at him; did
+not even faintly guess how much he was longing for a kind word, a
+little sympathy.  He had had the worst shock of his inconsequent life
+when, in reply to that urgent summons, he had raced round to Cynthia
+Farrow's flat, and found that he was too late.
+
+"She died ten minutes ago."
+
+Only ten minutes!  Jimmy had stared blankly at the face of the weeping
+maid, and then mechanically taken his watch from his pocket and looked
+at it.  Only ten minutes!  If he had not had to hang about for a taxi
+he would have been in time to have seen her.
+
+Now he would never see her again; as yet he had had no time in which to
+analyse his feelings; he was numbed with the shock of it all; he
+listened like a man in a dream to the details they told him.  It passed
+him by unmoved that she had been in Mortlake's car when the accident
+occurred; it had conveyed nothing to his mind when they told him that
+the only words she had spoken during her brief flash of consciousness
+had been to ask for him.
+
+As he stood there in the familiar scented pink drawing-room, his
+thoughts had flown with odd incongruity to Christine.
+
+She would be kind to him--she would be sorry for him; his whole heart
+and soul had been on fire to get back to her--to get away from the
+harrowing silence of the flat which had always been associated in his
+mind with fun and laughter, and the happiest days of his life.
+
+A fur coat of Cynthia's lay across a chair-back; so many times he had
+helped her slip into it after her performance at the theatre was ended.
+He knew so well the faint scent that always clung to it; he shuddered
+and averted his eyes.  She would never wear it again; she was dead!  He
+wondered what would become of it--what would become of all her clothes,
+and her jewelry and her trinkets.
+
+Suddenly, in the middle of more details, he had turned and rushed
+blindly away.  It was not so much grief as a sort of horror at himself
+that drove him; he felt as if someone had forced him to look on a past
+folly--a folly of which he was now ashamed.
+
+He had thought of Christine with a sort of passionate thankfulness and
+gratitude; and now there was nothing but dislike and contempt for him
+in her brown eyes.  Somehow she seemed like a different woman to the
+one whom he had so lightly wooed and won such a little while ago.  She
+looked older--wiser; the childishness of her face seemed to have
+hardened; it was no longer the little girl Christine who faced him in
+the silent room.
+
+He broke out again urgently:
+
+"Don't be absurd, Christine.  I won't have it, I tell you, I forbid you
+to leave the hotel.  After all, you're my wife--you must do as I wish."
+She seemed not to hear him; she stood with her eyes fixed straight in
+front of her.
+
+"Please let me go."
+
+"Where are you going?  You're my wife--you'll have to stay with me."
+His hand was on the door handle now; he was looking down at her with
+haggard eyes in his white face.
+
+"Let's begin all over again, Christine.  I've been a rotter, I know;
+but if you'll have a little patience--it's not too late--we can patch
+things up, and--and I'll promise you----"
+
+She cut him short.
+
+"You are saying this because she is dead.  If she were living you would
+not care what I did, or what became of me."  Suddenly her voice changed
+wildly.  "Oh, let me go--let me _go_!"
+
+For a moment their glances met, and for the first time in his spoilt
+and pampered life Jimmy Challoner saw hatred looking at him through a
+woman's eyes.  It drove the hot blood to his head; he was unnerved with
+the shock he had suffered that evening.  For a moment he saw the world
+red; he lifted his clenched fist.
+
+"Go, then--and a damned good riddance!"
+
+"Jimmy!"  Her scream of terror stayed his hand, and kept him from
+striking her.  He staggered back, aghast at the thing he had so nearly
+done.
+
+"Christine--Christine----" he stammered; but she had gone.  The
+shutting and locking of her bedroom door was his only answer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+SANGSTER SPEAKS IN RIDDLES
+
+Sangster heard of Cynthia Farrow's death late that night.
+
+He was walking up Fleet Street when he ran into a man he knew--a man
+whom Jimmy knew also; he stopped and caught him by his buttonhole.
+
+"I say, have you heard--awful thing, isn't it?"
+
+Sangster stared.
+
+"Heard!  Heard what?"
+
+"About Cynthia Farrow.  Had a frightful accident--in Mortlake's car."
+
+Sangster's eyes woke to interest.
+
+"Badly hurt?" he asked briefly.
+
+"Dead!"
+
+"My God!"  There was a moment of tragic silence.  "Dead!" said Sangster
+again.  He could not believe it; his face was very pale.  "Dead!" he
+said again.  His thoughts flew to Jimmy Challoner.  "Are you sure?" he
+asked urgently.  "There's no mistake--you're quite sure?"
+
+"Sure!  Man alive, it's in all the papers!  They've all got hold of a
+different story, of course; some say she  never  recovered
+consciousness,  and others----"  He lowered his voice.  "I happen to
+know that she did," he added confidentially.  "She sent for Challoner,
+and he was with her when she died."
+
+"Challoner--Jimmy Challoner!"  Sangster repeated his friend's name
+dully.  The one shocked thought of his heart was "Christine."
+
+"I always knew she really liked him," the other man went on
+complacently.  "If he'd had Mortlake's money----"  He shrugged his
+shoulders significantly.
+
+Sangster waited to hear no more; he went straight to Jimmy's hotel.  It
+was late then--nearly eleven.  The hall porter said in reply to his
+inquiry that Mr. and Mrs. Challoner had both been in all the evening,
+he thought, and were still in; he looked at Sangster's agitated face
+curiously.
+
+"Was you wishing to see Mr. Challoner, sir?"
+
+"No--oh, no.  I only thought--you need not tell him that I called."  He
+went away wretchedly; he wondered if Christine knew--and if so, what
+she must be thinking.
+
+He never slept all night.  He was on the 'phone to Jimmy long before
+breakfast; he was infinitely relieved to hear Jimmy's voice.
+
+"Hallo--yes, I'm all right, thanks.  Want to see me?  Well----"
+
+There was a pause here.  Sangster waited in a fever of impatience.
+After a moment:
+
+"I'll meet you for lunch, if you like. . . .  No, can't before. . . .
+What do you say?  Christine?  Oh, yes--yes, thanks; she's very well."
+
+There was another pause.  "One o'clock, then."
+
+Jimmy rang off.
+
+Sangster felt easier as he sat down to his breakfast.  Jimmy's voice
+had sounded fairly normal, if a little constrained; and it was not such
+a very long time till one o'clock, when he would hear all there was to
+hear.
+
+He forced himself to work all the morning.  He did not even glance at a
+paper; he knew they would be full of Cynthia Farrow's accident and
+tragic death; he dreaded lest there might be some inadvertent allusion
+made to Jimmy.  He was still hoping that Christine would never know
+that Jimmy had been sent for; he rightly guessed that if she heard it
+would mean a long farewell to any hope of happiness in her married life.
+
+Jealousy--bitter jealousy; that was what had been rending her heart, he
+knew.  He stopped writing; he took up a pencil, and absently began
+scribbling on his blotter.
+
+If Cynthia were out of the way, there was no reason why, in time, Jimmy
+and his wife should not be perfectly happy.  He hoped with all his
+heart that they would be; he would have given a great deal to have seen
+Christine smiling and radiant once more, as she had been that night
+when they all had supper at Marino's.
+
+He sighed heavily; he looked at the lines he had been so absently
+scribbling.
+
+Christine--Christine--Christine.  Nothing but her name.  It stared up
+at him in all shapes and sizes from the blotter.  Sangster flushed
+dully; he tore the sheet of paper free, and tossed it into the fire.
+What was he dreaming about?  Where were his thoughts?
+
+He had arranged to meet Jimmy at the same little restaurant where
+yesterday he had taken Christine to lunch.  He was there a quarter of
+an hour before the appointed time.
+
+When Jimmy arrived Sangster glanced at him anxiously.  He was very
+pale; his eyes looked defiant; there was a hard fold to his lips.
+
+"Hallo!" he said laconically; he sat down opposite to Sangster.  "I
+don't want any lunch; you fire away."
+
+He seemed to avoid Sangster's eyes; there was a little awkward silence.
+
+"How's the wife?" Sangster asked nervously.
+
+Jimmy laughed mirthlessly.
+
+"She's left me; she says she'll never live with me again."
+
+"Left you!"
+
+"Yes. . . .  Oh, don't look so scandalised, man!  I saw her off from
+Euston myself; it was all outwardly quite a friendly arrangement.
+She's gone down to Upton House; she's going to have a friend of hers to
+stay with her for a time--a Miss Leighton----"  He paused, and went on
+heavily: "Of course, you've heard about--about----"
+
+"Yes----"
+
+"Well--well, they sent for me.  It was too late!  She--she was dead
+when I got there; but Christine found out somehow--I don't know how.  I
+give you my word of honour I meant to have told her; but--she wouldn't
+believe anything I said. . . .  We--we had a row last night; I dare say
+it was my fault.  I was upset, of course----"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"And this morning I tried to apologise.  I asked her to overlook
+everything that had happened, and--and start again."  Jimmy laughed
+dully.  "I--well, I believe she hates the sight of me."
+
+Jimmy caught his breath hard on the memory of the burning hatred that
+had looked at him from Christine's beautiful brown eyes.
+
+"It's quite for the best--this arrangement.  Don't think I'm blaming
+her--I'm not; perhaps if she'd been a little older--if she'd known a
+little more about the world--she'd have been more tolerant; I don't
+know.  Anyway, she's gone."  He raised his humiliated eyes to
+Sangster's distressed face.
+
+"She will forgive you.  She's hurt now, of course; but later on . . ."
+
+Jimmy shook his head.
+
+"She's made me promise to keep away from her for six months.  I had no
+option--she thinks the worst of me, naturally.  She thinks that I--I
+cared for--for Cynthia--right up to the end. . . .  I didn't."  He
+stopped, choking.  "She's dead--don't let's talk about it," he added.
+
+Sangster had hardly touched his lunch; he sat smoking fast and
+furiously.
+
+"Six months is a long time," he said at last.
+
+"Yes--it's only a polite way of saying she never wants to see me again;
+and I don't blame her."
+
+"That's absurd; she's too fond of you."
+
+Jimmy hunched his shoulders.
+
+"That's what I tried to flatter myself; but I know better now.
+She--she wouldn't even shake hands with me when I said 'good-bye' to
+her at Euston."  There was a little silence.  The thoughts of both men
+flew to Christine as she had been when she first came to London; so
+happy--so radiantly happy.
+
+And Jimmy could look farther back still; could see her as she had been
+in the old days at Upton House when she had been his first love.  Jimmy
+gave a great sigh.
+
+"What a damnable hash-up, eh?" he said.
+
+"It'll all come right--I'm certain it will."
+
+Jimmy looked at him affectionately.
+
+"Dear old optimist!"  He struck a match and lit the cigarette which had
+been hanging listlessly between his lips.  "I suppose--if you'd run
+down and have a look at her now and then," he said awkwardly.  "She
+likes you--and you could let me know if she's all right."
+
+"If you don't think she would consider it an intrusion."
+
+"I am sure she wouldn't; and you'll like Upton House."  Jimmy's voice
+was dreamily reminiscent.  "It's to be sold later on, you know; but for
+the present Christine will live there. . . .  It would be a real
+kindness if you would run down now and then, old chap."
+
+"I will, of course, if you're sure----"
+
+"I'm quite sure.  Christine likes you."
+
+"Very well."
+
+Sangster kept his eyes downbent; somehow he could not meet Jimmy's just
+then.
+
+"And you--what are you going to do?" he asked presently.
+
+"I shall go back to my old rooms for a time, and take Costin with me;
+he'll be pleased, anyway, with the new arrangement.  It was really
+funny the way he tried to congratulate me when I told him I was going
+to be married----"  He broke off, remembering that afternoon, and the
+way Cynthia had come into the room as they were talking.
+
+He would never see her again; never meet the seductive pleading of her
+eyes any more; never hear her laughing voice calling to him, "Jimmy
+dear."
+
+The thought was intolerable.  He moved restlessly in his chair; the
+sweat broke out on his forehead.
+
+"My God! it seems impossible that she's dead," he said hoarsely.
+
+Sangster did not look up.
+
+There was a long pause.
+
+"She was in Mortlake's car, you know," said Jimmy again, disjointedly.
+
+Sangster nodded.
+
+"He'll be shockingly cut-up," said Jimmy again.  "I hated the chap; but
+he was really fond of her."
+
+"Yes."  Jimmy's cigarette had gone out again, and he relit it absently.
+
+"Christine will never believe that it hasn't broken my heart," he said
+in a queer voice.
+
+No answer.
+
+"You won't believe it either?" he said.
+
+The eyes of the two men met; Jimmy flushed scarlet.
+
+"It's the truth," he said.  "I think, ever since I knew that she--that
+she had tried to get rid of me----"  He stopped painfully.  "It makes
+me wonder if I ever--ever really, you know."
+
+"We all make mistakes--bad mistakes," said Sangster kindly.
+
+Jimmy smiled a little.
+
+"You old philosopher . . .  I don't believe you've ever cared a hang
+for a woman in all your life."
+
+"Oh, yes I have."  Sangster's eyes were staring past Jimmy, down the
+little room.
+
+"Really?"  Jimmy was faintly incredulous.  "Who was she--wouldn't she
+have you?"
+
+"I never asked her, and she is married now--to another man."
+
+"A decent fellow?"
+
+There was a little silence, then:
+
+"I think he'll turn out all right," said Sangster quietly.  "I hope so."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE PAST RETURNS
+
+Christine had learned a great deal since her marriage.  As she stood on
+the platform at Euston that morning with Jimmy Challoner she felt old
+enough to be the grandmother of the girl who had looked up at him with
+such glad recognition less than a month ago in the theatre.
+
+Old enough, and sad enough.
+
+She could not bear to look at him now.  It cut her to the heart to see
+the listless droop of his shoulders and the haggard lines of his face.
+It was not for her--his sorrow; that was the thought she kept steadily
+before her eyes; it was not because he had offended and hurt her past
+forgiveness; but because Cynthia Farrow was now only a name and a
+memory.
+
+The train was late in starting.  Jimmy stood on the platform trying to
+make conversation; he had bought a pile of magazines and a box of
+chocolates which lay disregarded beside Christine on the seat; he had
+ordered luncheon for her, although she protested again and again that
+she should not eat anything.
+
+He racked his brains to think if there were any other little service he
+could do for her.  He was full of remorse and shame as he stood there.
+
+She had been so fond of him--she had meant to be so happy; and now she
+was glad to be leaving him.
+
+The guard blew his whistle.  Jimmy turned hastily, the blood rushing to
+his white face.
+
+"If you ever want me, Christine----"  She seemed not to be listening,
+and he broke off, only to stumble on again: "Try and forgive me--try
+not to think too hardly of me."  She looked at him then; her beautiful
+eyes were hard and unyielding.
+
+The train had begun to move slowly from the platform.  Jimmy was on the
+footboard; he spoke to her urgently.
+
+"Say you forgive me, Christine.  If you'll just shake hands----"
+
+She drew back, as if she found him distasteful.
+
+The train was gathering speed.  A porter made a grab at Jimmy.
+
+"Stand back, sir."
+
+Jimmy obeyed mechanically.  Christine would not have cared had he been
+killed, he told himself savagely.
+
+But for his pig-headed foolishness, he and Christine might have been
+going down to Upton House together; but for the past----
+
+"Damn the past!" said Jimmy Challoner as he turned on his heel and
+walked away.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+But the past was very real to Christine as she sat there alone in a
+corner of the first-class carriage into which Jimmy had put her, and
+stared before her with dull eyes at a row of photographs advertising
+seaside places.
+
+This was the end of all her dreams of happiness.  She and Jimmy were
+separated; it seemed impossible that they had ever really been
+married--that she was really his wife and he her husband.
+
+She dragged off her glove, and looked at her wedding ring; she had
+never taken it off since the moment in that dingy London church when
+Jimmy had slipped it on.
+
+And yet it was such an empty symbol.  He had never loved her; he had
+married her because some other woman, whom he did love, was beyond his
+reach.
+
+She did not cry; she seemed to have shed all the tears in her heart.
+She just sat there motionless as the train raced her back to the old
+house and the old familiar scenes, where she had been happy--many years
+ago--with Jimmy Challoner.
+
+He had wired to Gladys Leighton; Gladys would be there at the station
+to meet her.  She wondered what she would say to her.
+
+She thought of the uncle who had journeyed to London with such
+reluctance to give her away; he would tell her that it served her
+right, she was sure.  Even on her wedding day he had trotted out the
+old maxim of marrying in haste.
+
+Christine smiled faintly as she thought of him; after all, she need not
+see much of him--he did not live near Upton House.  When the restaurant
+attendant came to tell her that lunch was ready, she followed him
+obediently.  Jimmy had tipped him half-a-crown to make sure that
+Christine went to the dining-car.  She even enjoyed her meal.  A man
+sitting at the same table with her looked at her curiously from time to
+time; he was rather a good-looking man.  Once when she dropped her
+gloves he stooped and picked them up for her; later on he pulled up the
+window because he saw her shiver a little.  "These trains are well
+warmed as a rule," he said.
+
+Christine looked at him timidly.
+
+She liked his face; something about his eyes made her think of Jimmy.
+
+"Are you travelling far?" he asked presently.
+
+She told him--only to Osterway.
+
+He smiled suddenly.
+
+"I am going there, too.  Do you happen to know a place called Upton
+House?"
+
+Christine flushed.
+
+"It's my home," she said.  "I live there."
+
+"What a coincidence.  I heard it was in the market--I am going down
+with a view to purchase."
+
+Her face saddened.
+
+"Yes--it is to be sold.  My mother died last month. . . .  Everything
+is to be sold."
+
+"You are sorry to have to part with it?" he asked her sympathetically.
+
+"Yes."  Tears rose to her eyes, and she brushed them, ashamedly away.
+"I've lived there all my life," she told him.  "All my happiest days
+have been spent there."  She was thinking of Jimmy, and the days when
+he rode old Judas barebacked round the paddock.
+
+The stranger was looking at Christine interestedly; he glanced down at
+her left hand, from which she had removed the glove; he was surprised
+to see that she wore a wedding ring.
+
+Surely she could not be married--that child!  He looked again at the
+mourning she wore; perhaps her husband was dead.  He forgot for the
+moment that she had just told him of the death of her mother.
+
+He questioned her interestedly about Osterway.  What sort of a place
+was it?  Were the people round about sociable?  He liked plenty of
+friends, he said.
+
+Christine answered eagerly that everyone was very nice.  To hear her
+talk one would have imagined that Osterway was a little heaven on
+earth.  The last few weeks, with their excitement and disillusionment,
+had made the past seem all the more roseate by contrast.  She told this
+man that she would rather live in Osterway than anywhere else; that she
+only wished she were sufficiently well off to keep Upton House.
+
+When the train ran into the station he asked diffidently if he might be
+allowed to drive her home.
+
+"My car is down here," he explained.  "I sent it on with my man.  I am
+staying in the village for a few days. . . .  Upton House is some way
+from the station, I believe?"
+
+"Two miles. . . .  I should like to drive home with you," she told him
+shyly.  "Only I am meeting a friend here."
+
+"Perhaps your friend will drive with us, too," he said.
+
+Christine thought it a most excellent arrangement.  She looked eagerly
+up and down the platform for Gladys Leighton, but there was no sign of
+her.
+
+"Perhaps she never got my telegram," she said in perplexity.  She asked
+the stationmaster if there had been a lady waiting for the train; but
+he had seen nobody.
+
+The man with whom she had travelled down from London stood patiently
+beside her.
+
+"Shall we drive on?" he suggested.  "We may meet your friend on the
+road."
+
+They went out to the big car; there was a smart man in livery to drive
+them.  Christine and her companion sat together in the back seat.  They
+drove slowly the first half-mile, but there was no sign of Gladys
+anywhere.  Christine felt depressed.  She had counted on Gladys; she
+had been so sure that she would not fail her; she began to wonder if
+Jimmy had sent that wire; she hated herself for the thought, but her
+whole belief and idea of him had got hopelessly inverted during the
+past days.
+
+They seemed to reach Upton House very quickly.
+
+"You are evidently expected," her companion said; "judging by the look
+of the house."
+
+The front door stood open; the wide gate to the drive was fastened
+back.  As the car stopped the housekeeper came to the door; she looked
+interestedly at Christine, and with faint amazement at her companion.
+For the first time Christine felt embarrassed: she wondered if perhaps
+she had been foolish to accept this man's offer of an escort.  When
+they were inside the house she turned to him timidly.
+
+"Will you tell me your name?  It--it seems so funny not to know your
+name.  Mine is Christine Wyatt--Challoner, I mean," she added with a
+flush of embarrassment.
+
+"My name is Kettering--Alfred Kettering."  He smiled down at her.  "The
+name Challoner is very familiar to me," he said.  "My greatest friend
+is a man named Challoner."
+
+Christine caught her breath.
+
+"Not--Jimmy?" she asked.
+
+"No--Horace.  He has a young brother named Jimmy, though--a
+disrespectful young scamp, who always called Horace 'the Great
+Horatio.'  You don't happen to know them, I suppose?"
+
+Christine had flushed scarlet.
+
+"He is my husband," she said in a whisper.
+
+"Your--husband!"  Kettering stared at her with amazed eyes, then
+suddenly he held our his hand.  "That makes us quite old friends, then,
+doesn't it?" he said with change of voice.  "I have known Horace
+Challoner all my life; as a matter of fact, I was with him all last
+summer in Australia.  I have been home myself only a few weeks."
+
+Christine did not know what to say.  She knew that this man must be
+wondering where Jimmy was; that it was more than probable that he would
+write to the Great Horatio and inform him of their chance meeting, and
+of anything else which he might discover about her mistaken marriage.
+
+"I don't think Horace knows that his brother is married, does he?" the
+man said again, Christine raised her eyes.
+
+"We've only been married ten days," she said tremulously.
+
+"Is that so?  Then I am not too late to offer you my most sincere
+congratulations, and to wish you every happiness."  He took her hand in
+a kindly grip.
+
+Christine tried to thank him, but somehow she seemed to have lost her
+voice.  She moved on across the hall into the dining-room, where there
+was a cheery fire burning and tea laid.
+
+"You will have some tea with me," she said.  "And then afterwards I
+will show you over the house--if you really want to see it?"  She
+looked up at him wistfully.  "I should like you to have it, I think,"
+she told him hesitatingly.  "If it has got to be sold, I should like to
+know that somebody--nice--has bought it."
+
+"Thank you."  He stood back to the fire, watching her as she poured out
+the tea.
+
+Married--this child!  It seemed so absurd.  She looked about seventeen.
+
+Suddenly:
+
+"And where is Jimmy?" he asked her abruptly.  "I wonder if he would
+remember me!  Hardly, I expect; it's a great many years since we met."
+
+Christine had been expecting the question; she kept her face averted as
+she answered:
+
+"Jimmy is in London; he saw me off this morning.  He--he isn't able to
+come down just yet."
+
+There was a little silence.
+
+"I see," said Kettering.  Only ten days married, and not able to come
+down.  Jimmy had never done an hour's work in his life, so far as
+Kettering could remember.  He knew quite well that he was living on an
+allowance from his brother; it seemed a curious sort of situation
+altogether.
+
+He took his tea from Christine's hands.  He noticed that they trembled
+a little, as if she were very nervous, he tried to put her at her ease;
+he spoke no more of Jimmy.
+
+"I wonder what has happened to your friend?" he said cheerily.  "I dare
+say she will turn up here directly."
+
+"I hope she will."  Christine glanced towards the window; it was
+rapidly getting dusk.  "I hope she will," she said again
+apprehensively.  "I should hate having to stay here by myself."  She
+shivered a little as she spoke.  She turned to him suddenly.
+
+"Are you--married?" she asked interestedly.
+
+He laughed.
+
+"No. . . .  Why do you ask?"
+
+"I was only wondering.  I hope you don't think it rude of me to have
+asked you.  I was only thinking that--if you were married and had any
+children, this is such a lovely house for them.  When we were all
+little we used to have such fine times.  There is a beautiful garden
+and a great big room that runs nearly the length of the house upstairs,
+which we used to have for a nursery."
+
+"You had brothers and sisters, then?"
+
+"No--but Jimmy was always here; and Gladys--Gladys is the friend I am
+expecting--she is like my own sister, really!"
+
+"I see."  His eyes watched her with an odd sort of tenderness in them.
+"And so you have known Jimmy a great many years?" he asked.
+
+"All my life."
+
+"Then you know his brother as well?"
+
+"I have met him--yes; but I dare say he has forgotten all about me."
+
+"He will be very pleased with Jimmy's choice of a wife," he answered
+her quickly.  "He always had and idea that Jimmy would bring home a
+golden-haired lady from behind the footlights, I think," he added
+laughingly.
+
+He broke off suddenly at sight of the pain in little Christine's face.
+There was an awkward silence.  Christine herself broke it.
+
+"Shall we go and look over the house before it gets quite dark?"
+
+She had taken off her coat and furs; she moved to the door.
+
+Kettering followed silently.  He was fully conscious that in some way
+he had blundered by his laughing reference to a "golden-haired lady of
+the footlights"; he felt instinctively that there was something wrong
+with this little girl and her marriage--that she was not happy.
+
+He tried to remember what sort of a fellow Jimmy had been in the old
+days; but his memory of him was vague.  He knew that Horace had often
+complained bitterly of Jimmy's extravagance--knew that there had often
+been angry scenes between the two Challoners; but he could not recall
+having heard of anything actually to Jimmy's discredit.
+
+And, anyway, surely no man on earth could ever treat this little girl
+badly, even supposing--even supposing----
+
+"It's not such a very big house," Christine was saying, and he woke
+from his reverie to answer her.  "But it's very pretty, don't you
+think?"  She opened a door on the left.  "This used to be our nursery,"
+she told him.  They stood together on the threshold; the room was long
+and low-ceilinged, with a window at each end.
+
+A big rocking-horse covered over with a dust-sheet stood in one corner;
+there was a doll's house and a big toy box together in another.  The
+whole room was painfully silent and tidy, as if it had long since
+forgotten what it meant to have children playing there--as if even the
+echoes of pattering feet and shrill voices had deserted it.
+
+Kettering glanced down at Christine.  Her little face was very sad; she
+was looking at the big rocking-horse, and there were tears in her eyes.
+
+She and Jimmy had so often ridden its impossible back together; this
+deserted room was full of Jimmy and her mother--to her sad heart it was
+peopled with ghost faces, and whispering voices that would never come
+any more.
+
+Kettering turned away.
+
+"Shall we see the rest of the house?" he asked.  He hated that look of
+sadness in her face; he was surprised because he felt such a longing to
+comfort her.
+
+But they had no time to see the rest of the house, for at that moment
+someone called, "Christine--Christine," from the hall below, and
+Christine clasped her hands delightedly.
+
+"That is Gladys.  Oh, I am so glad--so glad."
+
+She forgot all about Kettering; she ran away from him, and down the
+stairs in childish delight.  He followed slowly.  He reached the hall
+just in time to see her fling herself into the arms of a tall girl
+standing there; just in time to hear smothered ejaculations.
+
+"You poor darling!" and "Oh, Gladys!" and the sound of many kisses.
+
+He stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do.  Over Christine's
+head, his eyes met those of the elder girl.  She smiled.
+
+"Christine . . .  you didn't tell me you had visitors."
+
+Christine looked up, all smiles now and apologies, as she said:
+
+"Oh, I am so sorry--I forgot."  She introduced them.  "Mr.
+Kettering--Miss Leighton. . . .  Mr. Kettering has been looking over
+the house; I hope he will buy it," she added childishly.
+
+"It's a shame it has got to be sold," said Gladys bluntly.  There was
+something very taking about her, in spite of red hair and an
+indifferent complexion; she had honest blue eyes and a pleasant voice.
+She looked at Kettering a great deal as she spoke; perhaps she noticed
+how often his eyes rested on Christine.  When presently they went out
+into the garden, she walked between them; she kept an arm about
+Christine's little figure.
+
+"I missed the train," she explained.  "I got your husband's wire,
+Christine.  Oh, yes, I got it all right, and I rushed to pack the very
+minute; but the cab was slow, and I just missed the train.  However,
+I'm here all right."
+
+She looked at Kettering.
+
+"Do you live near here?" she asked him.
+
+"No; but I am hoping to soon," he said; and again she wondered if it
+were only her imagination that his eyes turned once more to Christine.
+
+When they got back to the house he bade them "good-bye."  The big car
+was still waiting in the drive; its headlights were lit now, and they
+shone through the darkness like watchful eyes.
+
+"Who is he, anyway?" Gladys asked Christine bluntly, when Kettering had
+driven off.  Christine shook her head.
+
+"I don't know; he came down in the train with me, and we had lunch at
+the same table, and he spoke.  He was coming down here to look at our
+house, and so--well, we came up together."
+
+"What do you think Jimmy would say?"
+
+"Jimmy!"  There was such depths of bitterness in Christine's voice that
+the elder girl stared.
+
+"Jimmy!  He wouldn't care what I did, or what became of me.  I--I--I'm
+never going to live with him any more."
+
+Gladys opened her mouth to say something, and closed it again.
+
+She had guessed that there had been something behind that urgent wire
+from Jimmy, but she wisely asked no questions.  They went back into the
+house together.
+
+"You'll have to know in the end, so I may as well tell you now,"
+Christine said hopelessly.  She sat down on the rug by the fire, a
+forlorn little figure enough in her black frock.
+
+She told the whole story from beginning to end.  She blamed nobody; she
+just spoke as if the whole thing had been a muddle which nobody could
+have foreseen or averted.
+
+Gladys listened silently.  She was a very sensible girl; she seldom
+gave an impulsive judgment on any subject; but now----
+
+"Jimmy wants his neck wrung," she said vehemently.
+
+Christine looked up with startled eyes.
+
+"Oh, how can you say such a thing!"
+
+"Because it's true."  Gladys looked very angry.  "He's behaved in a
+rotten way; men always do, it seems to me.  He married you to spite
+this--this other woman, whoever she was! and then--even then he didn't
+try to make it up to you, or be ordinarily decent and do his best, did
+he?"
+
+"He didn't love me, you see; and so----"  Christine defended him.
+
+"He'll never love anyone in the wide world except himself," Gladys
+declared disgustedly.  "I remember years ago, when we were all kiddies
+together, how selfish he was, and how you always gave in to him.
+Christine"--she stretched out her hand impulsively to the younger
+girl--"do you love him very much?" she asked.
+
+Christine put her head down on her arms.
+
+"Oh, I did--I did," she said, ashamedly.  "Sometimes I wonder if--if he
+hadn't been quite so--so sure of me! if--if he would have cared just a
+little bit more.  He must have known all along that I wanted him; and
+so----"  She broke off desolately.
+
+The two girls sat silent for a moment.
+
+"And now--what's he going to do now?" Gladys demanded.
+
+Christine sighed.
+
+"I told him I didn't want to see him.  I told him I didn't want him to
+come down here for six months--and he promised. . . .  He isn't to come
+or even to write unless--unless I ask him to."
+
+"And then--what happens then?"
+
+Christine began to cry.
+
+"Oh, I don't know--I don't know," she sobbed.  "I am so miserable--I
+wish I were dead."
+
+Gladys laid a hand on her bowed head.
+
+"You're so young, Christine," she said sadly.  "Somehow I don't believe
+you'll ever grow up."  She had not got the heart to tell her that she
+thought this six months separation could do no good at all--that it
+would only tend to widen the breach already between them.
+
+She was a pretty good judge of character; she knew quite well what sort
+of a man Jimmy Challoner was.  And six months--well, six months was a
+long time.
+
+"Mr. Kettering knows Jimmy's brother," Christine said presently, drying
+her eyes.  "So I suppose if he comes to live anywhere near here, he
+will know what--what is the matter with--with me and Jimmy, and he'll
+write and tell Horace."
+
+"And then Jimmy will get his allowance stopped, and serve him right,"
+said Gladys bluntly.
+
+Christine cried out in dismay:
+
+"Oh, but that would be dreadful!  What would he do?"
+
+"Work, like other men, of course."
+
+But Christine would not listen.
+
+"I shall ask Mr. Kettering not to tell Horace--if I ever see him
+again," she said agitatedly.
+
+Gladys laughed dryly.
+
+"Oh, you'll see him again right enough," she said laconically.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+JIMMY BREAKS OUT
+
+It took Jimmy a whole week to realise that Christine meant what she
+said when she asked him not to write to her, or go near her.  At first
+he had been so sure that in a day or two at most she would be sorry,
+and want to see him; somehow he could not believe that the little
+unselfish girl he had known all his life could so determinedly make up
+her mind and stick to it.
+
+He grumbled and growled to Sangster every time they met.
+
+"I was a fool to let her go.  The law is on my side; I could have
+insisted that she stayed with me."  He looked at his friend.  "_I could
+have insisted, I say!_" he repeated.
+
+Sangster raised his eyes.
+
+"I'm not denying it; but it's much wiser as it is.  Leave her alone,
+and things will work out their own salvation."
+
+"She'll forget all about me, and then what will happen?" Jimmy
+demanded.  "A nice thing--a very nice thing that would be."
+
+"No doubt she thinks that is what you wish her to do."
+
+Jimmy called him a fool; he threw a half-smoked cigarette into the
+fire, and sat watching it burn with a scowl on his face.
+
+The last week had seemed endless.  He had kept away from the club; the
+men in the club always knew everything--he had learned that by previous
+experience; he had no desire for the shower of chaff which he knew
+would greet his appearance there.
+
+Married a week--and now Christine had gone!  It made his soul writhe to
+think of it.  It had hurt enough to be jilted; but this--well, this
+struck at his pride even more deeply.
+
+"I thought you promised me to go down to Upton House and see how things
+were," he growled at Sangster.  "You haven't been, have you?  I suppose
+you don't mean to go either?"
+
+"My dear chap----"
+
+"Oh, don't 'dear chap' me," Jimmy struck in irritably.  "Go if you mean
+to go. . . .  After all, if anything happens to Christine, it's my
+responsibility----"
+
+"Then you should go yourself."
+
+"I promised I wouldn't--unless she asked me to.  If you were anything
+of a sport----"
+
+In the end Sangster consented to go.  He was not anxious to undertake
+the journey, much as he wanted to see Christine again.  At the end of
+the second week he went off early one morning without telling Jimmy of
+his intentions, and was back in town late the same night.  Jimmy was
+waiting for him in the rooms in the unfashionable part of Bloomsbury.
+It struck Sangster for the first time that Jimmy was beginning to look
+old; his face was drawn--his eyes looked worried.  He turned on his
+friend with a sort of rage when he entered.
+
+"Why couldn't you have told me where you were going.  Here I've been
+waiting about all day, wondering where you were and what was up."
+
+"I've been to see your wife--and there's nothing up."
+
+"You mean you didn't see her?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I did."
+
+"Well--well!"  Jimmy's voice sounded as if his nerves were worn to
+rags; he could hardly keep still.
+
+"She seemed very cheerful," said Sangster slowly.  He spoke with care,
+as if he were choosing his words.  "Miss Leighton was with her; and we
+all had tea together."
+
+"At Upton House?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Jimmy's eyes were gleaming.
+
+"How does the old place look?" he asked eagerly.  "Gad! don't I wish
+I'd got enough money to buy it myself.  You've no idea what a ripping
+fine time we used to have there years ago."
+
+"I'm sure you did; but--well, as a matter of fact, I believe the house
+is sold."
+
+"Sold!"
+
+"Yes; a man named Kettering--a friend of your brother's, I believe--is
+negotiating for it, at any rate.  Whether the purchase is really
+completed or not, I----"
+
+"Kettering!"  Jimmy's voice sounded angry.  "Kettering--that stuck-up
+ass!" he said savagely.
+
+Sangster laughed.
+
+"I shouldn't have described him as stuck-up at all," he said calmly.
+"He struck me as being an extremely nice sort of fellow."
+
+"Was he there, then?"
+
+"Yes--he's staying somewhere in the neighbourhood temporarily, I
+believe, from what I heard; at any rate, he seemed very friendly
+with--with your wife and Miss Leighton."
+
+Jimmy began pacing the room.
+
+"I remember him well," he said darkly, after a moment.  "Big chap with
+a brown moustache--pots of money."  He walked the length of the room
+again.  "Christine ought not to encourage him," he burst out presently.
+"What on earth must people think, as I'm not there."
+
+"I don't see any harm," Sangster began mildly.
+
+Jimmy rounded on him:
+
+"You--you wouldn't see harm in anything; but Christine's a very
+attractive little thing, and----"  He broke off, flushing dully.
+"Anyway, I won't have it," he added snappily.
+
+"I don't see how you're going to stop it, unless----"
+
+"Unless what?"
+
+"Unless you go down there."  Sangster spoke deliberately now.  In spite
+of his calm assertion that there was no harm in Kettering's visit to
+Upton House, his anxious eyes had noticed the indefinable something in
+Kettering's manner towards Christine that had struck Gladys Leighton
+that first evening.  Sangster knew men well, and he knew, without any
+plainer signs or telling, that it was not the house itself that took
+Kettering there so often, but the little mistress of the house, with
+her sweet eyes and her pathetic little smile.
+
+He got up and laid a hand on Jimmy's shoulder as he spoke.
+
+"Why not go down yourself?" he said casually.
+
+Jimmy swore.
+
+"I said I wouldn't. . . .  I'm not going to be the first to give in.
+It was her doing--she sent me away.  If she wants me she can say so."
+
+"She has her pride, too, you know,"
+
+Jimmy swore again.  He was feeling very ill and upset; he was firmly
+convinced that he was the most ill-used beggar in the whole of London.
+Remorse was gnawing hard at his heart, though he was trying to believe
+that it was entirely another emotion.  He had not slept properly for
+nights; his head ached, and his nerves were jumpy.
+
+"I'll not go till she sends for me," he said again obstinately.
+
+Sangster made no comment.
+
+He did not see Jimmy again for some days, though he heard of him once
+or twice from a mutual acquaintance.
+
+"Challoner's going to the devil, I should think," so the mutual
+acquaintance informed him bluntly.  "What's the matter with the chap?
+Hasn't anybody got any influence over him?  He's drinking hard and
+gambling his soul away."
+
+Sangster said "Rubbish!" with a confidence he was far from feeling.
+
+He did not really believe it; he knew Jimmy was a bit reckless and
+inclined to behave wildly when things did not entirely go to his taste,
+but he considered this a gross exaggeration of the truth; he made a
+mental note to look Jimmy up the following day.
+
+But it was the very same night that Costin, Jimmy Challoner's man,
+presented himself at the rooms in the unfashionable part of Bloomsbury
+and asked anxiously for Mr. Sangster.
+
+Sangster heard his voice in the narrow passage outside and recognised
+it.  He left his supper--a very meagre supper of bread and cheese, as
+funds were low that week--and went to the door.
+
+"Do you want me, Costin?"
+
+The man looked relieved.
+
+"Yes, sir--if you please, sir.  It's Mr. Challoner, I'm afraid he's
+very ill, but he won't let me send for a doctor, so I just slipped out
+and came round to you, sir."
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Sangster found Jimmy Challoner huddled up in an arm-chair by a roasting
+fire.  His face looked red and feverish, his eyes had a sort of
+unnatural glazed look, but he was sufficiently well to be able to swear
+when he saw his friend.
+
+"Costin fetched you, of course.  Interfering old idiot!  He thinks I'm
+ill, but it's all bally rot!  I've got a chill, that's all.  What the
+deuce do you want?"
+
+Sangster answered good-temperedly that he didn't want anything in
+particular; privately he agreed with Costin that it was more than an
+ordinary chill that had drawn Jimmy's face and made such hollows
+beneath his eyes.  He stood with his back to the fire looking down at
+him dubiously.
+
+"What have you been up to?" he asked.
+
+"Up to!"  Jimmy echoed the phrase pettishly.  "I haven't been up to
+anything.  You talk as if I were a blessed brat.  One must do something
+to amuse oneself.  I'm fed-up--sick to death of this infernal life.
+It's just a question of killing time from hour to hour.  I loathe
+getting up in the morning, I hate going to bed at night, I'm sick to
+death of the club and the fools you meet there.  I wish to God I could
+end it once and for all."
+
+"Humph!  Sounds as if you want a tonic," said Sangster in his most
+matter-of-fact way.  He recognised a touch of hysteria in Jimmy's
+voice, and in spite of everything he felt sorry for him.
+
+"Give me a drink," said Jimmy presently.  "That idiot, Costin, has kept
+everything locked up all day.  I'm as dry as blazes.  Give me a drink,
+there's a good chap."
+
+Sangster filled a glass with soda water and brought it over to where
+Jimmy sat huddled up in the big chair.  He looked a pitiable enough
+object--he wanted shaving, and he had not troubled to put on his
+collar; his feet were thrust into an old pair of bedroom slippers.  He
+sipped the soda and pushed it away angrily.
+
+"I don't want that damned muck," he said savagely.
+
+"I know you don't, but it's all you're going to have.  Look here,
+Jimmy, don't be an ass!  You're ill, old chap, or you will be if you go
+on like this.  Take my advice and hop off to bed, you'll feel a heap
+better between the sheets.  Can I do anything for you--anything----"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmy sullenly.  "You can--leave me to myself."
+
+He held his hands to the fire and shivered; Sangster looked at him
+silently for a moment, then he shrugged his shoulders and turned
+towards the door.  He was out on the landing when Jimmy called his name.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Where the deuce are you going?" Jimmy demanded irritably.  "Nice sort
+of pal, you are, to go off and leave a chap when he's sick."
+
+Sangster did not make the obvious reply; he came back, shutting the
+door behind him.  Jimmy was leaning back in his chair now; his face was
+nearly as red as the dressing-gown he wore, but he shivered violently
+from time to time.  There was a little silence, then he opened his eyes
+and smiled rather apologetically.
+
+"Sorry to be so dull.  I haven't slept for a week."
+
+It would have been nearer the truth to say that he had hardly closed
+his eyes since the night of Cynthia Farrow's death, but he knew that if
+he said that Sangster would at once bark up the wrong tree, and
+conclude that he was fretting for her--breaking his heart for her,
+whereas he was doing nothing of the kind.
+
+It was Christine, and not Cynthia, who was on his mind day and night,
+night and day; Christine for whose sake he reproached himself so
+bitterly and could get no rest.  She was so young--such a child.
+
+Every day he found himself remembering some new little incident about
+her; every day some little jewel from the past slipped out of the mists
+of forgetfulness and looked at him with sad eyes as if to ask:
+
+"Have you forgotten me?  Don't you remember----"
+
+He could not help thinking of Christine's mother too; he had been fond
+of her--she had mothered him so much in the old days; he wondered if
+she knew how he had repaid all her kindness; what sort of a hash he had
+made of life for poor little Christine.
+
+"You'd better cut off to bed," Sangster said again bluntly.
+
+He lit a cigarette and puffed a cloud of smoke into the air; he was
+really disturbed about Jimmy.  The repeated advice seemed to annoy
+Jimmy; he frowned and rose to his feet; he caught his breath with a
+sort of gasp of pain.  Sangster turned quickly.
+
+"What's up, old chap?"
+
+"Only my rotten head---it aches like the very devil."
+
+Jimmy stood for a moment with his hand pressed hard over his eyes, then
+he took a step forward, and stopped again.
+
+"I can't--I--confound it all----"
+
+Sangster caught his arm.
+
+"Don't be an ass; go to bed."  He raised his voice; he called to
+Costin; between them they put Jimmy to bed and tucked him up.  He kept
+protesting that there was nothing the matter with him, but he seemed
+grateful for the darkness of the room, and the big pillows beneath his
+aching head.
+
+Sangster went back to the sitting-room with Costin.
+
+"I don't think we need send for a doctor," he said.  "It's only a
+chill, I think.  See how he is in the morning.  What's he been up to,
+Costin?"
+
+Costin pursed his lips and raised his brows.
+
+"He's been out most nights, sir," he answered stoically.  "Only comes
+home with the milk, as you might say.  Hasn't slept at all, and doesn't
+eat.  It's my opinion, sir, that he's grieving like----"  He looked
+towards the mantelshelf and the place which they could both remember
+had once held Cynthia Farrow's portrait.
+
+Sangster shook his head.
+
+"You mean----" he asked reluctantly.
+
+"Yes, sir."  Costin tiptoed across the room and closed the door which
+led to Jimmy's bedroom.  "He's never been the same, sir, since Miss
+Farrow died--asking your pardon," he added hurriedly.
+
+Sangster threw his cigarette end firewards.
+
+"It's a rotten business," he said heavily.  In his own heart he agreed
+with Costin; he believed that it was Cynthia's death that was breaking
+Jimmy's heart.  He would have given ten years of his life to have been
+able to believe that it was something else quite different.
+
+"Well, I'll look in again in the morning," he said.  "And if you want
+me, send round, of course."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Costin helped Sangster on with his coat and saw him to the door; he was
+dying to ask what had become of Mrs. Jimmy, but he did not like to.  He
+was sure that Jimmy had merely got married out of pique, and that he
+had repented as quickly as one generally does repent in such cases.
+
+Sangster walked back to his rooms; he felt very depressed.  He was fond
+of Jimmy though he did not approve of him; he racked his brains to know
+what to do for the best.
+
+When he got home he sat down at his desk and stared at the pen and ink
+for some moments undecidedly; then he began to write.
+
+He addressed an envelope to Christine down at Upton House, and stared
+at it till it was dry.  After all, she might resent his interference,
+and yet, on the other hand, if Jimmy were going to be seriously ill,
+she would blame him for not having told her.
+
+Finally he took a penny from his waistcoat pocket and tossed up for it.
+
+"Heads I write, tails I leave it alone."
+
+He tossed badly and the penny came down in the waste-paper basket, but
+it came down heads, and with a little lugubrious grimace, Sangster
+dipped the pen in the ink again and squared his elbows.
+
+He wrote the letter four times before it suited him, and even then it
+seemed a pretty poor epistle to his critical eye as he read it through--
+
+
+"_Dear Mrs. Challoner,--I am just writing to let you know that Jimmy is
+ill; nothing very serious, but I thought that perhaps you would like to
+know.  If you could spare the time to come and see him, I am sure he
+would very much appreciate it.  He seems very down on his luck.  I
+don't want to worry or alarm you, and am keeping an eye on him myself,
+but thought it only right that you should know.--Your sincere friend,_
+
+"RALPH SANGSTER."
+
+
+It seemed a clumsy enough way of explaining things, he thought
+discontentedly, and yet it was the best he could do.  He folded the
+paper and put it into the envelope; he sat for a moment with it in his
+hand looking down at Christine's married name, "Mrs. James Challoner."
+
+Poor little Mrs. Jimmy!  A wife, and yet no wife.  Sangster lifted the
+envelope to his lips, and hurriedly kissed the name before he thrust
+the envelope into his pocket, and went out to post it.
+
+Would she come, he wondered? he asked himself the question anxiously
+before he dropped the letter into the box.  Somehow deep down in his
+heart he did not think that she would.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+KETTERING HEARS SOMETHING
+
+"I shall never be able to manage it if I live to be a hundred," said
+Christine despairingly.
+
+She leaned back in the padded seat of Kettering's big car and looked up
+into his face with laughing eyes.
+
+She had been trying to drive; she had driven the car at snail's pace
+the length of the drive leading from Upton House, and tried to turn out
+of the open carriage gate into the road.
+
+"If you hadn't been here we should have gone into the wall, shouldn't
+we?" she demanded.
+
+Kettering laughed.
+
+"I'm very much afraid we should," he said.  "But that's nothing.  I did
+all manner of weird things when I first started to drive.  Take the
+wheel again and have another try."
+
+But Christine refused.
+
+"I might smash the car, and that would be awful.  You'd never forgive
+me."
+
+"Should I not!"  His grave eyes searched her pretty face.  "I don't
+think you need be very alarmed about that," he said.  "However, if you
+insist----"  He changed places with her and took the wheel himself.
+
+It was early morning, and fresh and sunny.  Christine was flushed and
+smiling, for the moment at least there were no shadows in her eyes; she
+looked more like the girl who had smiled up from the stalls in the
+theatre to where Jimmy Challoner sat alone in his box that night of
+their meeting.
+
+Jimmy had never once been mentioned between herself and this man since
+that first afternoon.  Save for the fact that Kettering called her
+"Mrs. Challoner," Christine might have been unmarried.
+
+"Gladys will think we have run away," she told him presently with a
+little laugh.  "I told her we should be only half an hour."
+
+"Have we been longer?" he asked surprised.
+
+Christine looked at her watch.
+
+"Nearly an hour," she said.  "We were muddling about in the drive for
+ever so long, you know; and I really think we ought to go back."
+
+"If you really think so----"  He turned the car reluctantly.  "I
+suppose you wouldn't care for a little run after lunch?" he asked
+carelessly.  "I've got to go over to Heston.  I should be delighted to
+take you."
+
+"I should love it--if I can bring Gladys."
+
+He did not answer for a moment, then:
+
+"Oh, bring Gladys by all means," he said rather dryly.
+
+"What time?"
+
+"I'll call for you at two--If that will do."
+
+They had reached the house again now; Christine got out of the car and
+stood for a moment with one foot on the step looking up at Kettering.
+
+There was a little silence.
+
+"How long have we known each other?" he asked suddenly.
+
+She looked up startled--she made a rapid calculation.
+
+"Nearly three weeks, isn't it?" she said then.
+
+He laughed.
+
+"It seems longer; it seems as if I must have known you all my life."
+
+The words were ordinary enough, but the look in his eyes brought the
+swift colour to Christine's cheeks--her eyes fell.
+
+"Is that a compliment?" she asked, trying to speak naturally.
+
+"I hope so; I meant it to be."
+
+Her hand was resting on the open door of the car; for an instant he
+laid his own above it; Christine drew hers quickly away.
+
+"Well, we'll be ready at two, then," she said.  She turned to the
+house.  Kettering drove slowly down the drive.  He was a very
+fine-looking man, Christine thought with sudden wistfulness; he had
+been so kind to her--kinder than anyone she had ever known.  She was
+glad he was going to have Upton House, as it had got to be sold.  He
+had promised her to look after it, and not have any of the trees in the
+garden cut down.
+
+"It shall all be left just as it is now," he told her.
+
+"Perhaps some day you'll marry, and your wife will want it altered,"
+she said sadly.
+
+"I shall never get married," he had answered quickly.
+
+She had been glad to hear him say that; he was so nice as a friend,
+somehow she did not want anyone to come along and change him.
+
+She went into the house and called to Gladys.
+
+"I thought you would think we were lost perhaps," she said laughingly,
+as she thrust her head into the morning-room where Gladys was sitting.
+
+The elder girl looked up; her voice was rather dry when she answered:
+"No, I did not think that."
+
+Christine threw her hat aside.
+
+"I can't drive a bit," she said petulantly.  "I'm so silly!  I nearly
+ran into the wall at the gate."
+
+"Did you?"
+
+"Yes.  Gladys, we're going over to Heston at two o'clock with Mr.
+Kettering."
+
+Gladys looked up.
+
+"We!  Who do you mean by 'we'?"
+
+"You and I, of course."
+
+"Oh"--there was a momentary silence, then: "There's a letter for you on
+the table," said Gladys.
+
+Christine turned slowly, a little flush of colour rushing to her
+cheeks.  She glanced apprehensively at the envelope lying face upwards,
+then she drew a quick breath, almost of relief it seemed.
+
+She picked the letter up indifferently and broke open the flap.  There
+was a moment of silence; Gladys glanced up.
+
+"What's the matter?" she asked.
+
+Christine was staring out of the window, the letter lay on the floor at
+her feet.
+
+"Jimmy's ill," she said listlessly.
+
+"Ill!"  Gladys laid down her pen and swung round in the chair.  "What's
+the matter with him?" she asked rather sceptically.
+
+"I don't know.  You can read the letter, it's from Mr.
+Sangster--Jimmy's great friend."
+
+She handed the letter over.
+
+Gladys read it through and gave it back.
+
+"Humph!" she said with a little inelegant sniff; she looked at her
+friend.  "Are you going?" she asked bluntly.
+
+Christine did not answer.  She was thinking of Jimmy, deliberately
+trying to think of the man whom she had done her best during the last
+three weeks to forget.  She tried to think of him as he had been that
+last dreadful night at the hotel, when he had threatened to strike her,
+when he had told her to clear out and leave him; but somehow she could
+only recall him as he had looked at Euston that morning when he said
+good-bye to her, with the hangdog, shamed look in his eyes, and the
+pathetic droop to his shoulders.
+
+And now he was ill!  It was kind of Sangster to have written, she told
+herself, even while she knew quite well that Jimmy had not asked him
+to; it would be the last thing in the world Jimmy would wish.
+
+If he were ill, it was not because he wanted her.  She drew her little
+figure up stiffly.
+
+"I shan't go unless I hear again that it is serious," she said
+stiltedly.
+
+"Not--go!"  Gladys's voice sounded somehow blank, there was a curious
+expression in her eyes.  After a moment she looked away.  "Oh, well,
+you must please yourself, of course."
+
+Christine turned to the door--she held Sangster's letter in her hand.
+
+"Besides," she said flippantly, "I'm going over to Heston this
+afternoon with Mr. Kettering."
+
+She went up to her room and shut the door.  She stood staring before
+her with blank eyes, her pretty face had fallen again into sadness, her
+mouth dropped pathetically.
+
+She opened Sangster's letter and read it through once more.  Was Jimmy
+really ill, and was Sangster afraid to tell her, she wondered?  Or was
+this merely Sangster's way of trying to bring them together again?
+
+But Jimmy did not want her; even if he were dying Jimmy would not want
+to see her again.
+
+If he had cared he would never have consented to this separation; if he
+had cared--but, of course, he did not care!
+
+She began to cry softly; big tears ran down her cheeks, and she brushed
+them angrily away.
+
+She had tried to shut him out of her heart.  She had tried to forget
+him.  In a defensive, innocent way she had deliberately encouraged
+Kettering.  She liked him, and he helped her to forget; it restored her
+self-esteem to read the admiration in his kind eyes, it helped to
+soothe the hurt she had suffered from Jimmy's hands; and yet, in spite
+of it all, he was not Jimmy, and nobody could ever take Jimmy's place.
+She kept away from Gladys till lunch time, when at last she appeared,
+her eyes were red and swollen, and she held her head defiantly high.
+Gladys considerately let her alone.  Somehow, in spite of everything,
+she quite expected to hear that Christine was off to London by the
+afternoon train, but the meal passed almost in silence, and when it was
+finished Christine said:
+
+"We'd better get ready; Mr. Kettering will be there at two."
+
+Gladys turned away.
+
+"I'd rather not go, if you don't mind," she said uncomfortably.
+
+"Not--go!"
+
+"No--I--I don't care about motoring.  I--I've got a headache too."
+
+Christine stared at her, then she laughed defiantly.
+
+"Oh, very well; please yourself."
+
+She went upstairs to dress; she took great pains to make herself look
+pretty.  When Kettering arrived she noticed that his eyes went past her
+gloomily as if looking for someone else.
+
+"Gladys is not coming," she said.
+
+His face brightened.
+
+"Not coming!  Ought I to be sorry, I wonder?"
+
+She laughed.
+
+"That's rude."
+
+"I'm sorry."  He tucked the rug round her, and they started away down
+the drive.  "You don't want the wheel, I suppose?" he asked whimsically.
+
+Christine shook her head.
+
+"Have you--you been crying?" Kettering asked abruptly.
+
+Christine flushed scarlet.
+
+"Whatever makes you ask me that?"
+
+"Your eyes are red," he told her gently.
+
+She looked up at him with resentment, and suddenly the tears came
+again.  Kettering bit his lip hard.  He did not speak for some time.
+
+"I've got a headache," Christine said at last with an effort.  "I--oh,
+I know it's silly.  Don't laugh at me."
+
+"I'm not laughing."  His voice dragged a little; he kept his eyes
+steadily before him.
+
+"I thought perhaps something had happened--that you had had bad news,"
+he said presently.  "If--if there is anything I can do to help you, you
+know--you know I----"
+
+"There isn't anything the matter," she interrupted with a rush.  She
+was terrified lest he should guess that her tears were because of
+Jimmy; she had a horror nowadays that everyone would know that she
+cared for a man who cared nothing for her; she brushed the tears away
+determinedly; she set herself to talk and smile.
+
+They had tea at Heston, in the little square parlour of a country inn
+where the floor was only polished boards, and where long wooden
+trestles ran on two sides of the room.
+
+"It looks rather thick," Kettering said ruefully, standing looking down
+at the plate of bread and butter.  "I hope you don't mind; this is the
+best place in the village."
+
+Christine laughed.
+
+"It's like what we used to have at school, and I'm hungry."
+
+She looked up at him with dancing eyes; she had quite forgotten her
+sorrow of the morning.  Somehow this man's presence always cheered her
+and took her out of herself.  She poured tea for him, and laughed and
+chatted away merrily.
+
+Afterwards they sat over the fire and talked.
+
+Christine said she could see faces in the red coals; she painted them
+out to Kettering.
+
+He had to stoop forward to see what she indicated; for a moment their
+heads were very close together; it was Christine who drew back sharply.
+
+"Oughtn't we to be going home?" she asked with sudden nervousness.
+
+She rose to her feet and went over to the window; the sunshine had
+gone, and the country road was grey and shadowy.  Kettering's big car
+stood at the kerb.  After a moment he followed her to the window; he
+was a little pale, his eyes seemed to avoid hers.
+
+"I am quite ready when you are," he said.
+
+She was fastening her veil over her hat; her fingers shook a little as
+she tied the bow.
+
+Kettering had gone to pay for the tea; she stood looking after him with
+dawning apprehension in her eyes.
+
+He was a fine enough man; there was something about him that gave one
+such a feeling of safety--of security.  She could not imagine that he
+would ever deliberately set himself to hurt a woman, as--as Jimmy had.
+She went out to the car and stood waiting for him.
+
+"All that tea for one and threepence!" he said, laughing, when he
+joined her.  "Wonderful, isn't it?"
+
+She laughed too.  She got in beside him and tucked the rug round her
+warmly.
+
+"How long will it take to get home?" she asked.  She seemed all at once
+conscious of the growing dusk, conscious, too, of anxiety to get back
+to Gladys.  She was a little afraid of this man, though she would not
+admit it even to herself.
+
+"We ought to be home in an hour," he said.  He started the engine.
+
+The car ran smoothly for a mile or two.  Christine began to feel
+sleepy.  Kettering did not talk much, and the fresh evening air on her
+face was soothing and pleasant.  She closed her eyes.
+
+Presently when Kettering spoke to her he got no answer; he turned a
+little in his seat and looked down at her, but her head was drooping
+forward and he could not see her face.
+
+"Christine."  He spoke her name sharply, then suddenly he smiled; she
+was asleep.
+
+He moved so that her head rested against his arm; he slowed the car
+down a little.
+
+Kettering was not a young man, his fortieth birthday had been several
+years a thing of the past, but all his life afterwards he looked back
+on that drive home to Upton House as the happiest hour he had ever
+known, with Christine's little head resting on his arm and the grey
+twilight all about them.  When they were half a mile from home he
+roused her gently.  She sat up with a start, rubbing sleepy eyes.
+
+"Oh! where are we?"  He laid his hand on hers for a moment.
+
+"You've been asleep.  We're nearly home."
+
+He turned in at the drive of Upton House.  He let her get out of the
+car unassisted.
+
+Gladys was at the door; her eyes were anxious.
+
+"I thought you must have had an accident," she said.  She caught
+Christine's hand.  "You're fearfully late."
+
+"We had tea at Heston," Christine said.  She ran into the house.
+
+Kettering looked at the elder girl.
+
+"You would not come," he said.  "Don't you care for motoring?"
+
+"No."  She came down the steps and stood beside him.  "Mr. Kettering,
+may I say something?"
+
+He looked faintly surprised.
+
+"May you!  Why, of course!"
+
+"You will be angry--you will be very angry, I am afraid," she said.
+"But--but I can't help it."
+
+"Angry!  What do you mean?"
+
+There was a moment's silence, then:
+
+"Well," said Kettering rather curtly.
+
+She flushed, but her eyes did not fall.
+
+"Mr. Kettering, if you are a gentleman, and I know you are, you will
+never come here again," she said urgently.
+
+A little wave of crimson surged under Kettering's brown skin, but his
+eyes did not fall; there was a short silence, then he laughed--rather
+mirthlessly.
+
+"And if I am _not_ the gentleman you so very kindly seem to believe
+me," he said constrainedly.
+
+Gladys Leighton came a little closer to him; she laid her hand on his
+arm.
+
+"You don't mean that; you're only saying it because--because----"  She
+broke off with an impatient gesture.  "Oh!" she said exasperatedly,
+"what is the use of loving a person if you do not want them to be
+happy--if you cannot sacrifice yourself a little for them."
+
+Kettering looked at her curiously.  He had never taken much notice of
+her before; he had thought her a very ordinary type; he was struck by
+the sudden energy and passion in her voice.
+
+"She is not happy now, at all events," he said grimly.
+
+She turned away and fidgeted with the wheel of the car.
+
+"She could not very well be more unhappy than she is now," he said
+again bitterly.
+
+"She would be more unhappy if she knew she had done something to be
+ashamed of--something she had got to hide."
+
+He raised his eyes.
+
+"Are you holding a brief for Challoner?" he asked.
+
+She frowned a little.
+
+"You know I am not; I never thought he was good enough for her.  Even
+years ago as a boy he was utterly selfish; but--but Christine loved him
+then; she thought there was nobody in all the world like him; she
+adored him."
+
+He winced.  "And now?" he asked shortly.
+
+She did not answer for a moment; she stood looking away from him.
+
+"There was a letter this morning," she said tonelessly.  "Jimmy is ill,
+and they asked her to go to him."
+
+"Well!"
+
+"She would not go.  She told me she was going to Heston with you
+instead."
+
+The silence fell again.  Kettering's eyes were shining; there was a
+sort of shamed triumph about his big person.
+
+Gladys turned to him impatiently.
+
+"Are you looking glad?  Oh, I think I should kill you if I saw you
+looking glad," she said quickly.  "I only told you that so that you
+might see how much she is under your influence already; so that you can
+save her from herself. . . .  She's so little and weak--and now that
+she is unhappy, it's just the time when she might do something she
+would be sorry for all her life--when she might----"
+
+"What are you two talking about?" Christine demanded from the doorway.
+She came down the steps and stood between them; she looked at
+Kettering.  "I thought you had gone," she said, surprised.
+
+"No; I--Miss Leighton and I have been discussing the higher ethics," he
+said dryly.  He held his hand to Gladys.  "Well, good-bye," he said;
+there was a little emphasis on the last word.
+
+She just touched his fingers.
+
+"Good-bye."  She put her arm round Christine; there was something
+defensive in her whole attitude.
+
+Kettering got into the car; he did not look at Christine again.  He
+started the engine; presently he was driving slowly away.
+
+"Have you two been quarreling?"  Christine asked.  There was a touch of
+vexation in her voice; her eyes were straining through the darkness
+towards the gate.
+
+Gladys laughed.
+
+"Quarrelling!  Why ever should I quarrel with Mr. Kettering?  I've
+hardly spoken half a dozen words to him in all my life."
+
+"You seemed to have a great deal to say to him, all the same,"
+Christine protested, rather shortly.
+
+They went back to the house together.
+
+It was during dinner that night that Gladys deliberately led the
+conversation round to Jimmy again.
+
+They had nearly finished the unpretentious little meal; it had passed
+almost silently.  Christine looked pale and preoccupied.  Gladys was
+worried and anxious.
+
+A dozen times during the past few days she had tried to decide whether
+she ought to write to Jimmy or not.  Her sharp eyes had seen from the
+very first the way things were going with regard to Kettering, and she
+was afraid of the responsibility.  If anything happened--if Christine
+chose to doubly wreck her life--afterwards they might all blame her;
+she knew that.
+
+She was fond of Christine, too.  And though she had never approved of
+Jimmy, she would have done a great deal to see them happy together.
+
+It was for that reason that she now spoke of him.
+
+"When are you going to London, Chris?"
+
+Christine looked up; she flushed.
+
+"Going to London!  I am not going. . . .  I never want to go there any
+more."
+
+Gladys made no comment; she had heard the little quiver in the younger
+girl's voice.
+
+Presently:
+
+"I suppose you think I ought to go to Jimmy," Christine broke out
+vehemently.  "I suppose you are hinting that it is my duty to go.  You
+don't know what you are talking about; you don't understand that he
+cares nothing about me--that he would be glad if I were dead and out of
+the way.  He only wants his freedom; he never really wished to marry
+me."
+
+"It isn't as bad as that.  I am sure he----"
+
+"You don't know anything about him.  You don't know what I went through
+during those hateful weeks before--before I came here.  I don't care if
+I never see him again; he has never troubled about me.  It's my turn
+now; I am going to show him that he isn't the only man in the world."
+
+Gladys had never heard Christine talk like this before; she was
+frightened at the recklessness of her voice.  She broke in quickly:
+
+"I won't listen if you're going to say such things.  Jimmy is your
+husband, and you loved him once, no matter what you may do now.  You
+loved him very dearly once."
+
+Christine laughed.
+
+"I've got over that.  He wasn't worth breaking my heart about.  I was
+just a poor little fool in those days, who didn't know that a man never
+cares for a woman if he is too sure of her.  Oh, if I could only have
+my time over again, I'd treat him so differently--I'd never let him how
+how much I cared."
+
+Her voice had momentarily fallen back into its old wistfulness.  There
+were tears in her eyes, but she brushed them quickly away.
+
+"Don't talk about him; I don't want to talk about him."
+
+But Gladys persisted.
+
+"It isn't too late; you can have the time all over again by starting
+afresh, and trying to wipe out the past.  You're so young.  Why, Jimmy
+is only a boy; you've got all your lives before you."  She got up and
+went round to where Christine was sitting.  She put an arm about her
+shoulders.  "Why don't you forgive him, and start again?  Give him
+another chance, dear, and have a second honeymoon."
+
+Christine pushed her away; she started up with burning cheeks.
+
+"You don't know what you're talking about.  Leave me alone--oh, do
+leave me alone."  She ran from the room.
+
+She lay awake half the night thinking of what Gladys had said.  She
+tried to harden her heart against Jimmy.  She tried to remember only
+that he had married her out of pique; that he cared nothing for
+her--that he did not really want her.  As a sort of desperate defence
+she deliberately thought of Kettering; he liked her, she knew.  She was
+not too much of a child to understand what that look in his eyes had
+meant, that sudden pressure of his hand on hers.
+
+And she liked him, too.  She told herself defiantly that she liked him
+very much; that she would rather have been with him over at Heston that
+afternoon than up in town with Jimmy.  Kettering at least sought and
+enjoyed her society, but Jimmy----
+
+She clenched her hands to keep back the blinding tears that crowded to
+her eyes.  What was she crying for?  There was nothing to cry for; she
+was happy--quite happy; she was away from Jimmy--away from the man
+whose presence had only tortured her during those last few days; she
+was at home--at Upton House, and Kettering was there whenever she
+wanted him.  She hoped he would come in the morning again; that he
+would come quite early.  After breakfast she wandered about the house
+restlessly, listening for the sound of his car in the drive outside;
+but the morning dragged away and he did not come.
+
+Christine ate no lunch; her head ached, she said pettishly when Gladys
+questioned her.  No, she did not want to go out; there was nowhere to
+go.
+
+And all the time her eyes kept turning to the window again and again
+restlessly.
+
+Gladys did not know what to do; she was hoping and praying in her heart
+that Kettering would do as she had asked him, and stay away.  What was
+the good of him coming again?  What was the good of him making himself
+indispensable to Christine?  The day passed wretchedly.  Once she found
+Christine huddled up on the sofa crying; she was so miserable, she
+sobbed; nobody cared for her; she was so lonely, and she wanted her
+mother.
+
+Gladys did all she could to comfort her, but all the time she was
+painfully conscious of the fact that had Kettering walked into the room
+just then there would have been no more tears.
+
+Sometimes she thought that it only served Jimmy Challoner right;
+sometimes she told herself that this was his punishment--that Fate was
+fighting him with his own weapons, paying him back in his own coin; but
+she knew such thoughts were mere foolishness.
+
+He and Christine were married, no matter how strongly they might resent
+it.  The only thing left to them was to make the best they could of
+life.
+
+She sat with Christine that night till the girl was asleep.  She was
+not very much Christine's senior in years, but she felt somehow old and
+careworn as she sat there in the silent room and listened to the girl's
+soft breathing.
+
+She got up and went over to stand beside her.
+
+So young, such a child, it seemed impossible that she was already a
+wife, this girl lying there with her soft hair falling all about her.
+
+Gladys sighed and walked over to the window.  It must be a great thing
+to be loved, she thought rather sadly; nobody had ever loved her; no
+man had ever looked at her as Kettering looked at little
+Christine. . . .  She opened the window and looked out into the
+darkness.
+
+It was a mild, damp night.  Grey mist veiled the garden and shut out
+the stars; everything was very silent.
+
+If only Christine's mother had been here to take the responsibility of
+it all, she thought longingly; she had so little influence with
+Christine herself.  She closed the window and went back to the bedside.
+
+Christine was moving restlessly.  As Gladys looked down at her she
+began to laugh in her sleep--a little chuckle of unaffected joy.
+
+Gladys smiled, too, involuntarily.  She was happy in her dreams, at any
+rate, she thought with a sense of relief.
+
+And then suddenly Christine woke with a start.  She sat up in bed,
+throwing out her arms.
+
+"Jimmy----"  But it was a cry of terror, not of joy.
+"Jimmy--Jimmy--don't hurt me. . . . oh!"
+
+She was sobbing now--wild, pitiful sobs.
+
+Gladys put her arms round her; she held her tightly.
+
+"It's all right, dear.  I'm here--nobody shall hurt you."  She stroked
+her hair and soothed and kissed her; she held her fast till the sobbing
+ceased.  Then:
+
+"I've been dreaming," said Christine tremblingly.  "I thought"--she
+shivered a little--"I thought--thought someone was going to hurt me."
+
+"Nobody can hurt you while I am here; dreams are nothing--nobody
+believes in dreams."
+
+Christine did not answer.  She had never told Gladys of that one moment
+when Jimmy had tried to strike her--when beside himself with passionate
+rage and misery he had lifted his hand to strike her.
+
+She fell asleep again, holding her friend's hand.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+A CHANCE MEETING
+
+Two days passed uneventfully away, but Kettering did not come to Upton
+House.  Christine's first faint resentment and amazement had turned to
+anger--an anger which she kept hidden, or so she fondly believed.
+
+She hardly went out.  She spent hours curled up on the big sofa by the
+window reading, or pretending to read.  Gladys wondered how much she
+really read of the books which she took one by one from the crowded
+library.
+
+The third morning Christine answered Sangster's letter.  She wrote very
+stiltedly; she said she was sorry to hear that Jimmy was not well, but
+no doubt he was all right again by this time.  She said she was
+enjoying herself in a quiet way, and very much preferred the country to
+London.
+
+"I have so many friends here, you see," she added, with a faint hope
+that perhaps Sangster would show the letter to Jimmy, and that he would
+gather from it that she did not miss him in the very least.
+
+And Sangster did show it to Jimmy; to a rather weak-looking Jimmy,
+propped up in an armchair, slowly recovering from the severe chill
+which had made him quite ill for the time being.
+
+A Jimmy who spoke very little, and asked no questions at all, and who
+took the letter apathetically enough, and laid it by as soon as he had
+read it.
+
+"You wrote to her, then," he said indifferently.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You might have saved yourself the trouble; I knew she would not come.
+If you had asked me I could have told you.  Of course, you suggested
+that she _should_ come."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Jimmy's eyes smiled faintly.
+
+"Interfering old ass," he said affectionately.
+
+Sangster coloured.  He was very unhappy about Jimmy; he had always
+known that he was not particularly strong, and, as a matter of fact,
+during the past few days Jimmy had grown most surprisingly thin and
+weak, though he still insisted that there was nothing the matter with
+him--nothing at all.
+
+There was a little silence.
+
+"I suppose that's meant for a dig at me," said Jimmy presently.  "That
+bit about having so many friends. . . .  She means Kettering, I
+suppose."
+
+"I don't see why she should," said Sangster awkwardly.
+
+Jimmy laughed rather grimly.
+
+"Well, it's only tit for tat if she does," he said.  "But I
+thought----"  He did not finish; did not say that he had thought
+Christine cared too much for him ever to give a thought to another
+fellow.  He turned his head against the cushions and pretended to
+sleep, and presently Sangster went quietly away.
+
+He thought that Christine had--well, not behaved badly.  How could
+anyone blame her for anything she chose to do or not to do, after what
+had occurred?  But, still, he was vaguely disappointed in her; he
+thought she ought to have come--just to see how Jimmy really was.
+
+But Christine was not thinking very much about Jimmy in those days at
+all.  Somehow the foreground of her life seemed to have got filled up
+with the figure of another man; a man whom she had never once seen
+since that drive over to Heston.
+
+Sometimes she thought she would write a little note and ask him to come
+to tea; sometimes she thought she would walk the way in which she knew
+she could always meet him, but something restrained her.
+
+And then one afternoon, quite unexpectedly, she ran into him in the
+village.
+
+He was coming out of the little post office as she was going in, and he
+pulled up short with a muttered apology before he recognised her;
+then--well, then they both got red, and a little flame crept into
+Kettering's eyes.
+
+"I thought I was never going to see you any more," Christine said
+rather nervously.  "Are you angry with me?"
+
+"Angry!"  He laughed a little.  "Why ever should I be angry with
+you? . . .  I--the fact is, I've been in London on business."
+
+"Oh!"  She looked rather sceptical; she raised her chin a dignified
+inch.  "You ought to have told me," she said, unthinkingly.
+
+He looked at her quickly and away again.
+
+"I missed you," said Christine naively.
+
+"That is very kind of you."  There was a little silence.  "May I--may I
+walk a little way with you?" he asked diffidently.
+
+"If you care to."
+
+He checked a smile.  "I shall be delighted," he said gravely.
+
+They set out together.
+
+Christine felt wonderfully light-hearted all at once; her eyes
+sparkled, her cheeks were flushed.  Kettering hardly looked at her at
+all.  It made him afraid because he was so glad to be with her once
+more; he knew now how right Gladys had been when she asked him not to
+come to Upton House again.  He rushed into conversation; he told her
+that the weather had been awful in London, and that he had been
+hopelessly bored.  "I know so few people there," he said.  "And I kept
+wondering what you were----"  He broke off, biting his lip.
+
+"What I was doing?"  Christine finished it for him quickly.  "Well, I
+was sitting at the window most of the time, wondering why you didn't
+come and see me," she said with a laugh.
+
+"Were you----"
+
+She frowned a little; she looked up at him with impatient eyes.
+
+"What is the matter?  I know something is the matter; I can feel that
+there is.  You are angry with me; you----"
+
+"My dear child, I assure you I am not.  There is nothing the matter
+except, perhaps I am a little--worried and--and unhappy."
+
+He laughed to cover his sudden gravity.  "Tell me about yourself
+and--and Jimmy.  How is Challoner?"
+
+He had never spoken to her of Jimmy before; his name had been tacitly
+unmentioned between them.  Christine flushed; she shrugged her
+shoulders.  "I don't know; he wasn't very well last week, but I dare
+say he is all right again now."  Her voice was very flippant.  In spite
+of himself Kettering was shocked; he hated to hear her speak like that;
+he had always thought her so sweet and unaffected.
+
+"He ought to come down here for a change," he said in his most
+matter-of-fact tones.  "Why don't you insist that he comes down here
+for a change?  Country air is a fine doctor; he would enjoy it."
+
+"I don't think he would; he hates the country."  She spoke without
+looking at him.  "I am sure that he is having a much better time in
+London than he would have here----"  She broke off.  "Mr. Kettering,
+will you come back and have tea with me?"
+
+Kettering coloured; he tried to refuse; he wanted to refuse; but
+somehow her brown eyes would not let him; somehow----
+
+"I shall be delighted," he heard himself say.
+
+He had not meant to say it; he would have given a great deal to recall
+the words as soon as they were spoken, but it was too late.  Another
+moment and they were in the house.
+
+He looked round him with a sense of great pleasure.  It seemed a
+lifetime since he had been here; it was like coming home again to be
+here and with the woman he loved.  He looked at little Christine with
+wistful eyes.
+
+"Gladys is out," she said, "so you will have to put up with me alone;
+do you mind?"
+
+"Do I mind!"  She coloured beneath his gaze; her heart was beating fast.
+
+He followed her across the hall.  He knew he was doing the weak thing;
+knew that he ought to turn on his heel and go away, but he knew that he
+intended staying.
+
+An hour with Christine alone; it was worth risking something for to
+have that.  Christine opened the drawing-room door.
+
+"We'll have tea here," she said; "it's much more cosy.  I----"
+
+She stopped dead; her voice broke off into silence with a curious
+little jarring sound.
+
+A man had risen from the sofa by the window; a tall young man, with a
+pale face and worried-looking eyes--Jimmy Challoner!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+LOVE LOCKED OUT
+
+Jimmy only glanced at Christine; his eyes went past her almost
+immediately to the man who was following her into the room; a streak of
+red crept into his pale face.
+
+It was Kettering who recovered himself first; he went forward with
+outstretched hand.
+
+"Well, I never!  We were just talking about you."
+
+His voice was quite steady, perfectly friendly, but his heart had given
+one bitter throb of disappointment at sight of Christine's husband.
+This was the end of their little half-hour together.  Perhaps it was
+Fate stepping in opportunely to prevent him making a fool of himself.
+
+Jimmy and he shook hands awkwardly.  Jimmy had made no attempt to greet
+his wife.  One would have thought that they had met only an hour or two
+previously, to judge by the coolness of their meeting, though beneath
+her black frock Christine's heart was racing, and for the first few
+moments she hardly knew what she was doing or what she said.
+
+Jimmy looked ill; she knew that, and it gave her a faint little
+heartache; she avoided looking at him if she could help it.  She left
+the two men to entertain each other, and busied herself with the
+tea-tray.
+
+Kettering rose to the occasion nobly.  He talked away as if this
+unwelcome meeting were a pleasure to him.  He did his best to put
+Christine at her ease, but all the time he was wondering how soon he
+could make his excuses and escape; how soon he could get out of this
+three-cornered situation, which was perhaps more painful to him than to
+either of his companions.
+
+He handed the tea for Christine, and sat beside her, screening her a
+little from Jimmy's worried eyes.  How was she feeling? he was asking
+himself jealously.  Was she glad to see her husband, or did she feel as
+he did--that Jimmy's unexpected presence had spoilt for them both an
+hour which neither would easily have forgotten?
+
+"How is your brother?" he asked Jimmy presently.  "I haven't heard from
+him just lately.  I suppose he has thought no more of coming home?  He
+has talked of it for so long."
+
+Jimmy roused himself with an effort.  He had not touched his tea, and
+he had given the cake he had mechanically taken to Christine's terrier.
+He looked at her now, and quickly away again.
+
+"He is on his way home," he said shortly.
+
+There was a little silence.  Christine's face flushed; her eyes grew
+afraid.
+
+"On his way home--the Great Horatio?"
+
+Jimmy's nickname for his brother escaped her unconsciously.  Jimmy
+smiled faintly.
+
+"Yes; I heard last night.  I--I believe he arrives in England on
+Monday."
+
+It was Kettering who broke the following silence.
+
+"I shall be glad to see him again.  He will be surprised to hear that I
+have come across you and Mrs. Challoner."  He spoke to Jimmy, but his
+whole attention was fixed on the girl at his side.  He had seen the
+sudden stiffening of her slim little figure, the sudden nervous clasp
+of her hands.
+
+And then the door opened and Gladys Leighton walked into the room.  She
+looked straight at Kettering, and he met her eyes with a sort of
+abashed humiliation.  He rose to his feet to offer her his chair.
+Jimmy rose also.  He and Gladys shook hands awkwardly.
+
+"Well, I didn't expect to see _you_," said Gladys bluntly.  She glanced
+at Christine.
+
+"None of us expected to see him," said Jimmy's wife, rather shrilly.
+"The Great Horatio is on his way home.  I suppose he has come down to
+tell us the news."  Her voice sounded flippant.  Jimmy was conscious of
+a sharp pang as he listened to her.  He hardly recognised Christine in
+this girl who sat there avoiding his eyes, avoiding speaking to him
+unless she were obliged.
+
+Once she had hung on his every word; once she had flushed at the sound
+of his step; but now, one might almost have thought she was Kettering's
+wife instead of his.
+
+He hated Kettering.  He looked at him with sullen eyes.  He thought of
+what Sangster had said of this man--that he was always at Upton House;
+that he seemed very friendly with both the girls.  A vague jealousy
+filled Jimmy's heart.  Kettering was rich, whilst he--well, even the
+small allowance sent to him by his brother looked now as if it were in
+danger of ceasing entirely.
+
+If the Great Horatio knew that he and Christine were practically
+separated; if the Great Horatio ever knew the story of Cynthia Farrow,
+Jimmy Challoner knew that it would be a very poor lookout for him
+indeed.
+
+He wondered how long Kettering meant to stay.  He felt very much
+inclined to give him a hint that his room would be preferable to his
+company; but, after all, he himself was in such a weak position.  He
+had come to see Christine unasked.  It was her house, and in her
+present mood it was quite probable that she might order him out of it
+if he should make any attempt to assert his authority.
+
+She spoke to him suddenly; her beautiful brown eyes met his own
+unfalteringly, with a curious antagonism in them.
+
+"Shall you--shall you be staying to dinner, or have you to catch the
+early train back to London?"
+
+He might have been the veriest stranger.  Jimmy flushed scarlet.
+Kettering turned away and plunged haphazard into conversation with
+Gladys Leighton.
+
+Jimmy's voice trembled with rage as he forced himself to answer.
+
+"I should like to stay to dinner--if I may."
+
+He had never thought it possible that she could so treat him, never
+believed that she could be so utterly indifferent.  Christine laughed
+carelessly.
+
+"Oh, do stay, by all means.  Perhaps Mr. Kettering will stay as well?"
+
+Kettering turned.  He could not meet her eyes.
+
+"I am sorry.  I should like to have stayed; but--but I have another
+engagement.  I am very sorry."
+
+The words were lame enough; nobody believed their excuse.  Kettering
+rose to take his leave.  He shook hands with Gladys and Jimmy.  He
+turned to Christine.
+
+"I will come and see you off," she said.
+
+She followed him into the hall, deliberately closing the door of the
+drawing-room behind her.
+
+"We must have our little tea another day," she said recklessly.  She
+did not look at him.  "It was too bad being interrupted like that."
+
+She hardly knew what she was saying.  Her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes
+were feverish.  Kettering stifled a sigh.
+
+"Perhaps it is as well that we were interrupted," he said very gently.
+He took her hand and looked down into her eyes.
+
+"You're so young," he said, "such a child still.  Don't spoil all your
+life, my dear."
+
+She raised defiant eyes.
+
+"My life was spoilt on my wedding day," she said in a hard voice.
+"I----  Oh, don't let us talk about it."
+
+But he did not let her hand go.
+
+"It's not too late to go back and begin again," he said with an effort.
+"I know it--it must seem presumptuous for me to talk to you like this,
+but--but I would give a great deal to be sure that you were happy."
+
+"Thank you."  There was a little quiver in her voice, but she checked
+it instantly.  She dragged her hand free and walked to the door.
+
+It was quite dark now; she was glad that he could not see the tears in
+her eyes.
+
+"When shall I see you again?" she asked presently.
+
+He did not answer at once, and she repeated her question: "When shall I
+see you again?  I don't want you to stay away so long again."
+
+He tried to speak, but somehow could find no words.  She looked up at
+him in surprise.  It was too dark to see his face, but something in the
+tenseness of his tall figure seemed to tell her a great deal, She spoke
+his name in a whisper.
+
+"Mr. Kettering!"
+
+He laid his hand on her shoulder.  He spoke slowly, with averted face.
+
+"Mrs. Challoner, if I were a strong man I should say that you and I
+must never meet again.  You are married--unhappily, you think now; but,
+somehow--somehow I don't want to believe that.  Give him another
+chance, will you?  We all make mistakes, you know.  Give him another
+chance, and then, if that fails----"  He did not finish.  He waited a
+moment, standing silently beside her; then he went away out into the
+darkness and left her there alone.
+
+Christine stood listening to the sound of his footsteps on the gravel
+drive.  He seemed to take a long while to reach the gate, she thought
+mechanically; it seemed an endless time till she heard it slam behind
+him.
+
+But even then she did not move; she just stood staring into the
+darkness, her heart fluttering in her throat.
+
+She would have said that she had only loved one man--the man whom she
+had married; but now. . . .  Suddenly she covered her face with her
+hands, and, turning, ran into the house and upstairs to her room,
+shutting and locking the door behind her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+THE COMPACT
+
+Down in the drawing-room things were decidedly uncomfortable.
+
+Gladys sat by the tea-table, enjoying her tea no less for the fact that
+Jimmy was walking up and down like a wild animal, waiting for Christine
+to return.
+
+Secretly Gladys was rather amused at the situation.  She considered
+that whatever Jimmy suffered now, it served him right.  She blamed him
+entirely for the estrangement between himself and his wife.  She had
+never liked him very much, even in the old days, when she had
+quarrelled with him for being so selfish; she could not see that he had
+greatly improved now, as she watched him rather quizzically.
+
+After a moment:
+
+"You'll wear the carpet out," she said practically,
+
+Jimmy stood still.
+
+"Why doesn't Christine come back?" he demanded.  "What's she doing with
+that fool Kettering?"
+
+"He isn't a fool," said Gladys calmly.  "I call him an exceedingly nice
+man."
+
+Jimmy's eyes flashed.
+
+"I suppose you've been encouraging him to come here and dangle after my
+wife.  I thought I could trust you."
+
+Gladys looked at him unflinchingly.
+
+"I thought I could trust you, too," she said serenely.  "And apparently
+I was mistaken.  You've spoilt Christine's life, and you deserve all
+you get."
+
+"How dare you talk to me like that?"
+
+She laughed.
+
+"I dare very well.  I'm not afraid of you, Jimmy.  I know too much
+about you.  Christine married you because she loved you; she thought
+there was nobody like you in all the world.  It's your own fault if she
+has changed her mind."
+
+"I'll break every bone in Kettering's confounded body."  Jimmy burst
+out passionately.  "I'll--I'll----"  He stopped suddenly and sat down
+with a humiliating sense of weakness, leaning his head in his hands.
+
+Gladys's eyes softened as she looked at him.
+
+"You've been ill, haven't you?" she asked.
+
+He did not answer, and after a moment she left the tea-table, got up
+and went over to where he sat.
+
+"Buck up, Jimmy, for heaven's sake," she said seriously.  She put her
+hand on his shoulder kindly enough.  "It's not too late.  You're
+married, after all, and you may as well make the best of it.  You may
+both live another fifty years."
+
+Jimmy said he was dashed if he wanted to.  He said he had had enough of
+life; it was a rotten swindle from beginning to end.
+
+Gladys frowned.
+
+"If you're going to talk like an utter idiot!" she said impatiently.
+
+He caught her hand when she would have moved away.
+
+"I'm sorry.  You might be a pal to a chap, Gladys.  I--well, I'm at my
+wits' end to know what to do.  With Horatio coming home----"
+
+Her eyes grew scornful.
+
+"Oh, so _that's_ why you've come here!"
+
+"It is and it isn't.  I wanted to see Christine.  You won't believe me,
+I know, but I've been worried to death about her ever since she left
+me.  Ask Sangster, if you don't believe me.  I swear to you that, if it
+were possible, I'd give my right hand this minute to undo all the
+rotten past and start again.  I suppose it's too late.  I suppose she
+hates me.  She said she did that last night in London.  She looks as if
+she does now.  The way she asked me if I was going to stay to dinner--a
+chap's own wife!--and in front of that brute Kettering!"
+
+"He isn't a brute."
+
+Gladys walked away and poured herself another cup of tea.
+
+"Christine has been hurt--hurt much more than you have," she said at
+last.  She spoke slowly, as if she were carefully choosing her words.
+
+"She was so awfully fond of you, Jimmy."  Jimmy moved restlessly.
+"It--it must have been a dreadful shock to her, poor child."  She
+looked at him impatiently.  "Oh, what on earth is the use of being a
+man if you can't make a woman care for you?  She did once, and it ought
+not to be so very difficult to make her care again.  She--she's just
+longing for someone to be good to her and love her.  That's why she
+seems to like Mr. Kettering, I know.  It is only seeming, Jimmy.  I
+know her better than you do.  It's only that he came along just when
+she was so unhappy--just when she was wanting someone to be good to
+her.  And he _has_ been good to her--he really has," she added
+earnestly.
+
+Jimmy drew a long breath.  He rose to his feet, stretching his arms
+wearily.
+
+"I don't deserve that she should forgive me," he said, with a new sort
+of humility.  "But--but if ever she does----"  He took a quick step
+forwards Gladys.  "Go and ask her to come and speak to me, there's a
+dear.  I promise you that I won't upset her.  I'll do my very best."
+
+She went reluctantly, and as soon as the door had closed behind her,
+Jimmy Challoner went over to the looking-glass and stared at his pale
+reflection anxiously.  He had always rather admired himself, but this
+afternoon his pallor and thinness disgusted him.  No wonder Christine
+did not want to look at him or talk to him.  He passed a nervous hand
+over the refractory kink in his hair, flattening it down; then,
+remembering that Christine had once said she liked it, brushed it up
+again agitatedly.
+
+It seemed a long time before she came down to him.  He was sure that
+half an hour must have passed since Gladys shut the door on him, before
+it opened again and Christine stood there, a little pale, a little
+defiant.
+
+"You want to speak to me," she said.  Her voice was antagonistic, the
+soft curves of her face seemed to have hardened.
+
+"Yes.  Won't you--won't you come and sit down?"  Jimmy was horribly
+nervous.  He dragged forward a chair, but she ignored it.  She shut the
+door and stood leaning against it.
+
+"I would rather stay here," she said.  "And please be quick.  If there
+is anything important to say----"
+
+The indifference of her voice cut him to the heart.  He broke out with
+genuine grief:
+
+"Oh, Christine, aren't you ever going to forgive me?"
+
+Just for a moment a little quiver convulsed her face, but it was gone
+instantly.  She knew by past experience how easily Jimmy could put just
+that soft note into his voice.  She told herself that it was only
+because he wanted something from her, not that he was really in the
+very least sorry for what had happened, for the way he had hurt her,
+for the havoc he had made of her life.
+
+"It isn't a question of forgiveness at all," she said.  "I didn't ask
+you to come here.  I didn't want you to come here, I was quite happy
+without you."
+
+"That is very evident," he said bitterly.  The words escaped him before
+he could stop them.  He apologised agitatedly.
+
+"I didn't mean that; it slipped out; I ought not to have said it.  I
+hardly know what I am saying.  If you can't ever forgive me, that
+settles it once and for all, of course; but----"
+
+She interrupted.
+
+"Why have you come here?  What do you want?"
+
+The question was direct enough, and in desperation he answered it as
+directly.
+
+"I have come because my brother will be home next week, and I want to
+know what I am to tell him."
+
+For the first time she blenched a little.  Her eyes sought his with a
+kind of fear.
+
+"Tell him?  What do you mean?  What does it matter what you tell him?"
+
+"I mean about our marriage.  The old boy was so pleased when he knew
+that I--that you----  It will about finish him if he knows how--if he
+knows that we--" He floundered helplessly.
+
+"You mean if he knows that you married me out of pique, and that I
+found it out?" she added bitterly.
+
+He attempted no defence; he stood there miserable and silent.
+
+"You can tell him what you like," said Christine, after a moment.  "I
+don't care in the very least."
+
+"I know you don't.  I quite realise that; but--but if, just for the
+sake of appearances, you felt you could be sufficiently forgiving
+to--to come back to me, just--just for a little while, I mean," he
+added with an embarrassed rush.  "I--I wouldn't bother you.  I--I'd let
+you do just as you liked.  I wouldn't ask anything.  I--I----"
+
+Christine laughed.
+
+"You are inviting me to have a second honeymoon, in fact.  Is that it?"
+she asked bitterly.  "Thank you very much.  I enjoyed the first so
+tremendously that, of course, it is only natural you should think I
+must be anxious to repeat the experiment."
+
+Jimmy flushed to the roots of his hair.
+
+"I deserve everything you can say.  I haven't any excuse to offer; and
+I know you'll never believe it if I were to tell you that--that when
+Cynthia----"
+
+She put up her hands to her eyes with a little shudder.
+
+"I don't want to hear anything about her; I don't ever want to hear her
+name again."
+
+"I'm sorry, dear."  The word of endearment slipped out unconsciously.
+Christine's little figure quivered; suddenly she began to sob.
+
+She wanted someone to be kind to her so badly.  The one little word of
+endearment was like a ray of sunshine touching the hard bitterness of
+her heart, melting it, breaking her down.
+
+"Christine!" said Jimmy in a choked voice.
+
+He went over to her.  He put an arm round her, drawing her nearer to
+the fire.  He made her sit in the arm-chair, and he knelt beside her,
+holding her hand.  He wanted to kiss her, wanted to say all the many
+passionate words of remorse that rose to his lips, but somehow he was
+afraid.  He was not sure of her yet.  He was afraid of startling her,
+of driving her back into cold antagonism and suspicion.
+
+Presently she stopped sobbing; she freed her hand and wiped away the
+tears.
+
+"It was silly to cry," she said jerkily.  "There was nothing to cry
+for."  She was ashamed that she had broken down; angry that the cause
+of her grief had been that one little word of endearment spoken by
+Jimmy.
+
+He rose to his feet and went to stand by the mantelshelf, staring down
+into the fire.
+
+There was a long silence.
+
+"When--when is Horatio coming?" Christine asked him presently.
+
+"I don't know for certain.  The cable said Monday, but it may be later
+or even earlier."
+
+She looked at him.  His shoulders were drooping, his face turned away
+from her.
+
+There was an agony of indecision in her heart.  She did not want to
+make things harder for him than was absolutely necessary; and yet she
+clung fast to her pride--the pride that seemed to be whispering to her
+to refuse--not to give in to him.  She stared into the fire, her eyes
+blurred still with tears.
+
+"I suppose he'll stop your allowance if he knows?" she said at last,
+with an odd little mirthless laugh.
+
+Jimmy flushed.
+
+"I wasn't thinking of that," he said quickly.  "I don't care a hang
+what he does; but--but--well, I would have liked him to _think_ things
+were all right between us, anyway."
+
+He waited a moment.  "Of course, if you can't," he said then, jaggedly,
+"if you feel that you can't I'll tell him the truth.  It will be the
+only way out of it."
+
+A second honeymoon!  Christine's own words seemed to ring in her ears
+mockingly.
+
+She had never had a honeymoon at all yet.  That week in London had been
+only a nightmare of tears and disillusionment and heartbreak.  If it
+meant going through it all again----
+
+She got up suddenly and went to stand beside Jimmy.  She was quite
+close to him, but she did not touch him, though it would have seemed
+the most natural thing in all the world just at that moment to slip a
+hand through his arm or to lay her cheek to the rough serge of his
+coat.  She had been so proud of him, had loved him so much; and yet now
+she seemed to be looking at him and speaking to him across a yawning
+gulf which neither of them were able to bridge.
+
+"Jimmy, if--if I do--if I come back to you--just for a little while, so
+that--so that your brother won't ever know, you won't--you won't try
+and keep me--afterwards?  You won't--you won't try and force me to stay
+with you, will you?"
+
+"I give you my word of honour.  I don't know how to thank you.  I--I'm
+not half good enough for you.  I don't deserve that you should ever
+give me a thought; I'm such an awful rotter," said Jimmy Challoner,
+with a break in his voice.  He tried to take her hand, but she drew
+back.
+
+"It's only--only friends we're going to be," she whispered.
+
+He choked back a lump in his throat.
+
+"Only friends, of course," he echoed, trying to speak cheerily.  He
+knew what she meant; knew that he was not to remember that they were
+married, that they were just to behave like good pals--for the complete
+deception of the Great Horatio.
+
+"Thank you, thank you very much," he said again.  "And--and when will
+you--when----" he stammered.
+
+"Oh, not yet," she told him quickly.  "There is plenty of time.  Next
+week will do.  You can let me know when your brother arrives.  I'll
+come then.  I'll----"  Someone knocked at the door.  It was Gladys.
+She looked apologetic.  "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a telegram
+for Jimmy.  I thought it might be important."  She handed him the
+yellow envelope.
+
+Jimmy took it agitatedly.  His heart was thumping.  He was sure that he
+knew what were its contents.  He broke open the flap.  There was a
+little silence; then he handed the message to his wife.
+
+
+"Horatio arrives in London to-morrow morning.  Wire just received.
+Thought you ought to know at once.--SANGSTER."
+
+
+Christine read the message through, then let it flutter to the floor at
+her feet; she looked up at Jimmy's embarrassed face.
+
+"Well?" she said sharply.
+
+"He's coming to-morrow, you see," Jimmy began stumblingly.  "He--he'll
+be in London to-morrow, so if--so if----"  He cast an appealing glance
+at Gladys.
+
+"I suppose I'm in the way," she said bluntly.  "I'll clear out."
+
+She turned to the door, but Christine stopped her.
+
+"You're not in the way--I'd rather you stayed.  You may as well hear
+what we're talking about.  Jimmy's brother is coming home, and--and,
+you see, he doesn't know that I--that we----"
+
+"I've asked her to come back to me--at any rate, for a time," Jimmy
+interrupted valiantly.  "I know I don't deserve it, but it would make
+such a deuce of a difference if she would--you know what Horatio
+is--I--I'd give anything to prevent him knowing what a mess I've made
+of everything," he added boyishly.
+
+They were both looking at Gladys now, Jimmy and Christine, and for a
+moment she stood irresolute, then she turned to Jimmy's wife.  "Well,
+what are you going to do?" she said, and her usually blunt voice was
+quite gentle.
+
+Christine moved closer to her friend.
+
+"Oh, what do you think I ought to do?" she appealed in a whisper.
+
+Gladys glanced across at Jimmy Challoner; he looked miserable enough;
+at the sight of his thin face and worried eyes she softened towards
+him; she took Christine's hand.
+
+"I think you ought to go," she said.
+
+Jimmy turned away; he stood staring down into the fire; he felt somehow
+as if they were both taking a mean advantage of Christine; he felt as
+if he had tried to force her hand; he was sure she did not wish to come
+back to him, but he was sure, too, that because in her heart she
+thought it her duty to do so, he would not return to London alone that
+night.
+
+Nobody spoke for a moment; Jimmy was afraid to look round, then
+Christine said slowly:
+
+"Very well, what train are we to go by?"
+
+Her voice sounded a little expressionless; Jimmy could not look at her.
+
+"Any train you like," he said jerkily.  "My time is yours--anything you
+want . . . you have only to say what you would like to do."
+
+A few weeks ago she would have been so happy to hear him speak like
+that, but now the words seemed to pass her by.
+
+"We may as well have dinner first, and go by a fast train," she said.
+"I hate slow trains.  Will you--will you pack some things for me?"  She
+looked at Gladys.
+
+"Of course."  Gladys turned to the door, and Christine followed her,
+leaving Jimmy alone.
+
+He did not move; he stood staring down at the cheery fire, his elbow
+resting on the mantleshelf.
+
+He wished now that he had not asked this of his wife; he wished he had
+braved the situation out and received the full vent of the Great
+Horatio's wrath alone.  Christine would think less of him than ever for
+being the first to make overtures of peace; he could have kicked
+himself as he stood there.
+
+Kettering loomed in the background of his mind with hateful
+persistence; Kettering had looked at Christine as if--as if----  Jimmy
+roused himself with a sigh; it was a rotten world--a damned rotten
+world.
+
+Upstairs Gladys was packing a suit-case for Christine, and talking
+about every conceivable subject under the sun except Jimmy.
+
+Christine sat on the side of the bed, her hands folded in her lap.  She
+took no interest in the proceedings, she hardly seemed to be listening
+to her friend's chatter.
+
+Suddenly she broke into a remark Gladys was making:
+
+"You really think I am doing the right thing, Gladys?"
+
+Gladys sat back on her heels and let a little silk frock she had been
+folding fall to the floor.  She looked at the younger girl with
+affectionate anxiety.
+
+"Yes, I do," she said seriously.  "Things would never have got any
+better as they were.  It's perfectly true, in my opinion, that if you
+don't see a person for a long time you don't care whether you ever see
+him again or not, and--and I should hate you and Jimmy to--to have a
+final separation, no matter what I've said, and no matter what a
+selfish pig he is."
+
+Christine smiled faintly.
+
+"He can't _help_ not caring for me," she said.
+
+"No, but he can help having married you," Gladys retorted
+energetically.  "Don't think I'm sympathising with him.  I assure you
+I'm not.  I hope he'll get paid out no end for what he's done, and the
+way he's treated you.  But--but all the same, I think you ought to go
+back to him."
+
+Christine flushed.
+
+"I hate the thought of it," she said with sudden passion.  "I shall
+never forget those days in London.  I tried to pretend that everything
+was all right when anybody was there, just so that the servants should
+not see, but they all did, I know, and they were sorry for me.  Oh, I
+feel as if I could kill myself when I look back on it all.  To think I
+let him know how much I cared, and all the time--all the time he
+wouldn't have minded if he'd never seen me again.  All the time he was
+longing for--for that other woman.  I know it's horrid to talk like
+that about her, but--but she's dead, and--and----" she broke off with a
+shuddering little sigh.
+
+"Things will come all right--you see," said Gladys wisely.  She picked
+up Christine's frock and carefully folded it.  "Give him a chance,
+Christine; I don't hold a brief for him, but, my word! it would be
+rotten if the Great Horatio found out the truth and cut Jimmy off with
+a shilling, wouldn't it?  Of course, _really_ it would serve him right,
+but one can't very well tell him so."  She shut the lid of the case,
+and rose to her feet.  "There, I think that's all.  It must be nearly
+dinner time."
+
+But Christine did not move.
+
+"I wish you would come with us," she said tremblingly.  "Why can't you
+come with us?  I shouldn't mind half so much if you were there."
+
+Gladys glanced at her and away again.
+
+"Now you're talking sheer rubbish," she said lightly.  "You remind me
+of that absurd play, _The Chinese Honeymoon_, when the bride took her
+bridesmaids with her."  She laughed; she took Christine's hand and
+dragged her to her feet.  "You might smile a little," she protested.
+"Don't let Jimmy think you're afraid of him."
+
+"I _am_ afraid.  I don't want to go."  Suddenly she began to cry.
+
+Gladys's kind eyes grew anxious, she stood silent for a moment.
+
+"I'm ever so much happier here," Christine went on.  "I hate London; I
+hate the horrid hotels.  I'd much rather be here with you and----" she
+broke off.
+
+Gladys let go of her hand; there was a pucker of anxiety between her
+eyes.  What had Kettering said to Christine? she asked herself in
+sudden panic.  Surely he had not broken his word to her.  She dismissed
+the thought with a shrug of the shoulders.
+
+"Don't be a baby, Chris," she said a trifle impatiently.  "It's up to
+you this time, anyway.  What's the use of being young and as pretty as
+you are if you can't win the man you want?"
+
+Christine dried her eyes, her cheeks were flushed.
+
+"But I don't want him," she said with sudden passion.  "I don't want
+him any more than he wants me."
+
+Gladys stared at her in speechless dismay, she felt as if a cold hand
+had been laid on her heart.  She was unutterably thankful when the
+dinner gong broke the silence; she turned again to the door.
+
+"Well, _I_ want my dinner, that's all I know," she said.
+
+She went downstairs without waiting for Christine.
+
+Jimmy met her in the hall; he looked at her with a sort of suspicion,
+she thought, and she knew she was colouring.
+
+"Look here, Jimmy," she said with sudden brusqueness, "if she comes
+back here again without you it will be the last time you need ask me
+for help.  You've got your chance.  If you can't make her want to stay
+with you for the rest of your natural life I wash my hands of the whole
+affair."
+
+"I'll do my best.  I----" he floundered.
+
+Gladys caught his arm in friendly fashion.
+
+"I've no right to tell you, I suppose," she said, lowering her voice,
+"but it won't be easy.  I never thought she'd change so, but
+now--well----"  She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+A little flame flashed into Jimmy's eyes.
+
+"You mean that she doesn't care a hang for me now, is that it?" he
+asked roughly.
+
+Gladys did not answer, she turned her face away.
+
+Jimmy put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him.
+
+"Gladys, you don't mean--not--not Kettering?"
+
+There was a thrill of agony in his voice.
+
+"I don't know--I can't be sure," Gladys answered him agitatedly.  "I
+don't know anything.  It's only--only what I'm afraid of."  She moved
+hurriedly away from him as they heard Christine's footsteps on the
+landing upstairs.
+
+"I suppose it was wrong of me to have said that," she told herself in a
+panic as she went in to dinner.  "But after all, it serves him right!
+Perhaps he'll understand now something of what she suffered, poor
+darling."
+
+Out in the hall Jimmy was standing at the foot of the stairs looking up
+at Christine.
+
+"I--I feel such an awful brute," he began agitatedly.  "I don't deserve
+that you should consider me in the least.  I--I'll do my best,
+Christine."
+
+She seemed to avoid looking at him.  She moved quickly past him.
+
+"Don't let's talk about it," she said nervously.  "I'd much rather we
+did not talk about it."  She went on into the dining-room without him.
+
+Jimmy stood for a moment irresolute, he could not believe that it was
+Christine who had spoken to him like this.  Christine, who so obviously
+wished to avoid being with him.
+
+A sudden flame of jealousy seared his heart, he clenched his fists.
+Kettering--damn the fellow, how dared he make love to another man's
+wife!
+
+But he had conquered his agitation before he followed Christine.  He
+did his best to be cheerful and amusing during dinner.  He was rewarded
+once by seeing the pale ghost of a smile on Christine's sad little
+face; it was as if for a moment she allowed him to raise the veil of
+disillusionment that had fallen between them and step back into the old
+happy days when they had played at sweethearts.
+
+But the dinner was over all too soon, and Gladys said it was time to
+think about trains, and she talked and hustled very cleverly, giving
+them no time to feel awkward or embarrassed.  She was going to escort
+them to the station, she declared, conscious, perhaps, that both of
+them would be glad of her company; she said that she wished, she could
+come with them all the way, but that, of course, they did not want her.
+And neither of them dared to contradict her, though secretly Jimmy and
+Christine would both have given a great deal had she suddenly changed
+her mind and insisted on accompanying them to London.
+
+She stood at the door of the railway carriage until the last minute;
+she sent all manner of absurd messages, to the Great Horatio; she told
+Christine to be sure, to give him her love; she kept up a running fire
+of chaff and banter till the train started away, and a pompous guard
+told her to "Stand back, there!" and presently the last glimpse of
+Christine's pale little face and Jimmy's worried eyes had been
+swallowed up in the darkness of evening.
+
+Then Gladys turned to walk home alone with a feeling of utter
+desolation in her heart and an undignified smarting of tears in her
+eyes.
+
+"I hope to goodness I've done the right thing in letting her go," she
+thought, as she turned out on to the dark road again.  "I hope--I beg
+your pardon," she had bumped into a tall man coming towards her.
+
+He stopped at sound of her voice, it was Kettering.
+
+"Miss Leighton, what in the world----" he began in amazement.
+
+"I've been seeing Jimmy off," Gladys explained airily, though her heart
+was beating uncomfortably.  "Jimmy and Christine; they've gone off on a
+second honeymoon," she added flippantly.
+
+"Jimmy--and Christine!" he echoed her words in just the tone of voice
+she had dreaded and expected to hear, half hurt, half angry.  She could
+feel his eyes peering down at her, trying to read her face through the
+darkness, then he gave a short, angry laugh.
+
+"I suppose you think you are protecting her from me," he said roughly.
+
+Gladys did not answer at once, and when she spoke it was in a queer,
+strangled voice:
+
+"Or perhaps I am protecting you--from her!"
+
+There was a little silence, then she moved a step from him.  "Good
+night," she said.
+
+He followed.  "I will walk back with you."  He strode along beside her
+through the darkness; he was thinking of Christine and Jimmy, speeding
+away to London together, and a sort of impotent rage consumed him.
+
+Jimmy was such a boy!  So ignorant of the way in which to love a woman
+like Christine; he asked an angry question:
+
+"Whose suggestion was this--this----?"  He could not go on.
+
+"I don't know--they agreed between themselves, I think.  Horatio is
+coming home--the Great Horatio, you knew," Gladys told him, her voice
+sounded a little hysterical.
+
+"And are you staying on here?"
+
+"I shall for the present--till Christine comes back--if she ever does,"
+she added deliberately.
+
+"You mean that you think she won't?" he questioned sharply.
+
+"I mean that I _hope_ she won't."
+
+They walked some little way in silence.
+
+"You'll find it dull--alone at Upton House," he said presently in a
+more friendly voice.
+
+"Yes."  Gladys was humiliated to know how near she was to weeping; she
+would rather have died than let Kettering know how desolate she felt.
+
+"You don't care for motoring, do you?" he said suddenly.  "Or I might
+come along and take you out sometimes."
+
+"I do, I love it."
+
+She could feel him staring at her in amazement.
+
+"But you said----" he began.
+
+"I know what I said; it was only another way of expressing my
+disapproval of--of----  Well, you know!" she explained.
+
+"Oh," he said grimly; suddenly he laughed.  "Well, then, may I call and
+take you out sometimes?  We shall both be--lonely," he added with a
+sigh.  "And even if you don't like me----"
+
+He waited, as if expecting her to contradict him, but she did not, and
+it was impossible for him to know that through the darkness her heart
+was racing, and her cheeks crimson because--well, perhaps because she
+liked him too much for complete happiness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+TOO LATE!
+
+Jimmy and Christine travelled to London at opposite ends of the
+carriage.
+
+Jimmy had done his best to make his wife comfortable, he had wrapped a
+rug round her though it was a mild night, he had bought more papers and
+magazines than she could possibly read on a journey of twice the
+length, and seeing that she was disinclined to talk, he had finally
+retired to the other end of the carriage and pretended to be asleep.
+
+He was dying for a smoke, he would have given his soul for a cigarette,
+but he was afraid to ask for permission, so he sat there in durance
+vile with his arms folded rightly and his eyes half closed, while the
+train sped on through the night towards London.
+
+Christine turned the pages of her magazines diligently, though it is
+doubtful if she read a word or saw a single picture.
+
+She felt very tired and dispirited, it was as if she had been forced
+back against her will to look once more on the day of her wedding, when
+the cold cheerlessness of the church and vestry had frightened her, and
+when Jimmy had asked Sangster to lunch with them.  The thought of
+Sangster gave her a gleam of comfort; she liked him, and she knew that
+he could be relied upon; she wondered how soon she would see him.
+
+And then she thought of Kettering and the last words he had said to her
+on the steps at Upton House, and a little sigh escaped her.  She
+thought Jimmy was asleep, she put down the magazine and let herself
+drift.  There was something about Kettering that had appealed to her as
+no other man had ever done, something manly and utterly reliable which
+she found restful and protecting.  She wondered what he would say when
+he heard that she had gone back to Jimmy, and what he would think.
+
+She looked across at her husband, his eyes were wide open.
+
+"Do you want anything?" he asked quickly.
+
+"No, thank you."  She seized upon the magazine again, she flushed in
+confusion.
+
+"I've been wondering," said Jimmy gently, "where you would like to stay
+when we get to town.  I think you'd be more comfortable in--in my rooms
+if you wouldn't mind going there, but----"
+
+She interrupted hastily, "I'd much rather go to an hotel.  I don't care
+where it is--any place will do."
+
+She spoke hurriedly, as if she wished the conversation ended.
+
+Jimmy looked at her wistfully, she was so pretty, much prettier than
+ever he had realised, he told himself with a sense of loss.  A thousand
+times lately he found himself wishing that Cynthia Farrow had not died;
+not that he wanted her any more for himself, not that it any longer
+made him suffer to think of her and those first mad days of his
+engagement, but so that he might have proved to Christine that the fact
+of her being in London and near to him affected him not at all, that he
+might prove his infatuation for her to be a thing dead and done with.
+
+Now he supposed she would never believe him.  He looked at her pretty
+profile, and with sudden impulse he rose to his feet and crossed over
+to sit beside her.
+
+"I want to speak to you," he said, when she made a little movement as
+if to escape him.  "No, I'm not going to touch you."
+
+There was a note of bitterness in his voice, once she had loved him to
+be near her--a few short weeks ago--and she would have welcomed this
+journey with him alone, but now things were so utterly changed.
+
+"I must speak to you, just once, about Cynthia," he said urgently.
+"Just this once, and then I'll never mention her again.  I can't hope
+that you'll believe what I'm going to say, but--but I do beg of you to
+try and believe that I am not saying all this because--because
+she--she's dead.  If she had lived it would make no difference to me
+now; if she were alive at this moment she would be no more to me
+than--than any other woman in the world."
+
+Christine kept her eyes steadily before her; she listened because she
+could not help herself, but she felt as if someone were turning a knife
+in her heart.
+
+"The night--the night she died," Jimmy went on disconnectedly, "I was
+going to make a clean breast of--of everything to you, and ask you to
+forgive me and let us start again.  I was, 'pon my honour I was,
+but--but Fate stepped in, I suppose, and you know what happened.  When
+I married you I'll admit that--that I didn't care for you as much
+as--as much as I ought to have done, but now----"
+
+"But now"--Christine interrupted steadily though she was driven by
+intolerable pain--"now it's too late.  I'm not with you to-night for
+any reason except that--that I think it's my duty, and because I don't
+want your brother to know or to blame you.  We--we can't ever be
+anything--except ordinary friends.  I suppose we can't get unmarried,
+can we?" she said with a little quivering laugh.  "But--but at least we
+need never be anything more than--than friends----"
+
+Jimmy was very white; Christine had spoken so quietly, so decidedly,
+they were not angry words, not even deliberately chosen to hurt him,
+they sounded just final!
+
+He caught her hand.
+
+"Oh, my God, you don't mean that, Christine, you're just saying it
+to--to punish me, just to--to--pay me out.  You don't really mean
+it--you don't mean that you've forgotten all the old days, you don't
+mean that you don't care for me any more--that you never will care for
+me again.  I can't bear it.  Oh, for God's sake say you don't mean
+that."
+
+There was genuine anguish in his voice now, and in his eyes, but
+Christine was not looking at him, she was only remembering that he had
+once loved another woman desperately, passionately, and that because
+that woman was no longer living he wished to transfer his affections;
+she kept her eyes steadily before her, as she answered him:
+
+"I am sorry, I don't want to hurt you, but--but I am afraid that--that
+is what I do mean."
+
+There was a moment of absolute silence.  She did not look at Jimmy; she
+was only conscious of the fierce desire in her heart to hurt him, to
+make him feel, make him suffer as he had once made her suffer in the
+days that seemed so far away now and dead that she could look back with
+wonderment at herself for the despair she had known then.
+
+She was glad that she no longer suffered; glad that she had lost her
+passionate love for him in this numbed indifference.  She wondered if
+he really felt her words, or if he were only pretending.
+
+Once he had pretended to her so well that she had married him; now, as
+a consequence, she found herself suspecting him at every turn, doubting
+him whenever he spoke.
+
+The train shot into a tunnel, and Christine caught her breath.  She
+shrank a little farther away from Jimmy in the darkness, but she need
+not have feared.  Seeing her instinctive movement he rose at once and
+walked away to the other side of the carriage.  He hardly spoke to her
+again till they reached London.
+
+It was late then.  Christine felt tired, and her head ached.  She asked
+no more questions as to where they were going or what he proposed to do
+with her.  She followed him into the taxi.  She did not hear what
+directions he gave to the driver.  It seemed a very little while before
+they stopped, and Jimmy was holding out his hand to help her to alight.
+
+They went into the hotel together, and for a moment Jimmy left her
+alone in the wide, empty lounge while he went to make arrangements for
+her.
+
+She looked round her dully.  The old depression she had known when last
+she was in London returned.  She hated the silence of the lounge; even
+the doors seemed to shut noiselessly, and everywhere the carpets were
+so thick that footsteps were muffled.
+
+Jimmy came back.  He seemed to avoid her eyes.
+
+"I have taken rooms for you; I think you will be comfortable.  Will
+you--will you go up now?  I have ordered supper; it will be ready in
+fifteen minutes.  I will wait here."
+
+Christine obeyed wearily.  She went up in the lift feeling lonely and
+depressed.  A kind-faced maid met her on the first landing.  She went
+with Christine into her bedroom; she unpacked her bag and made the room
+comfortable for her; she talked away cheerily, almost as if she guessed
+what a sore heart the girl carried with her.  Christine felt a little
+comforted as she went downstairs again.
+
+It was nearly eleven o'clock.  A few people were having supper in the
+room to which she was directed.  Jimmy was there waiting for her.
+
+They sat down together almost silently.
+
+"A second honeymoon!"  Gladys Leighton's words came back to Christine
+with a sort of mockery.
+
+She looked at her husband.  He was pale and silent.  He only made a
+pretence of eating; they were both glad when the meal was over.
+
+There was a moment of awkwardness when they rose from the table.
+
+"I am tired," Christine said when he asked if she would care to go to
+the drawing-room for a little while.  "I should like to go to bed."
+
+"Very well."  Jimmy held out his hand.  "Good night."  He looked at her
+and quickly away again.  "I will come round in the morning."
+
+She raised startled eyes to his face.
+
+"You are not staying here then?"
+
+He coloured a little.
+
+"No; I thought you would prefer that I did not.  I shall be at my
+rooms--if you want me."
+
+"Very well."  She just touched the tips of his fingers.  The next
+moment she was walking alone up the wide staircase.
+
+She never slept all night.  Though she had felt tired at the end of her
+journey, she never once closed her eyes now.
+
+She wished she had not come.  She hated Jimmy for having persuaded her;
+she hated Gladys for having practically told her that it was her duty
+to do as he wished; she hated Jimmy afresh because now, having got her
+to London, he had gone off and left her.
+
+She did not choose to believe that he had really done so because he
+thought she would prefer it.  She felt lonely and deserted; tears
+welled into her eyes.
+
+"A second honeymoon!"  What a farce it all was.
+
+It seemed an eternity before the rumble of traffic sounded again in the
+streets and the first grey daylight crept through the blind chinks.
+
+She wondered what Gladys was doing, what Kettering was doing, and if he
+knew that she had gone, and where.
+
+She deliberately conjured the memory of his eyes and voice as he had
+last looked at her and spoken.
+
+Her heart beat a little faster at the memory.  She knew well enough
+that he loved her, and for a moment she wondered what life would be
+like with him to always care for her and shield her.
+
+He was much older than Jimmy.  She did not realise that perhaps his
+knowledge of women and the way in which they liked to be treated was
+the result of a long apprenticeship during which he had had time to
+overcome the impulsive, headlong blunderings through which Jimmy was
+still stumbling.
+
+She was up and dressed early; she had had her breakfast and was ready
+to go out when Jimmy arrived.  He looked disappointed.  He had made an
+effort and got up unusually early for him in order to be round at the
+hotel before Christine could possibly expect him.  He asked awkwardly
+if she had slept well.  She looked away from him as she answered
+impatiently:
+
+"I never sleep well in London--I hate it."
+
+He bit his lip.
+
+"I'm sorry.  What would you like to do this morning?"
+
+"I'm going out."
+
+"You mean that you don't wish me to come?"
+
+Christine shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Come if you wish--certainly."
+
+They left the hotel together.  It was a bright sunny morning, and
+London was looking its best.  Christine rushed into haphazard speech.
+
+"Have you heard from your brother again?"
+
+"No; I hardly expected to."
+
+Something in the constraint of his voice made her look at him quickly.
+
+"I suppose--I suppose he really is coming?" she said with sudden
+suspicion.
+
+Jimmy flushed scarlet.
+
+"I haven't deserved that," he said.
+
+Christine laughed--a hard little laugh, strangely unlike her.
+
+"I am not so sure," she answered.
+
+They had turned into Regent Street now.  A flower-girl thrust a bunch
+of scented violets into Jimmy's face.
+
+"Buy a bunch for the pretty lady, sir."
+
+Jimmy smiled involuntarily.  He looked at Christine.
+
+"May I buy them for you?"  He did not wait for her answer; he gave the
+girl a shilling.
+
+Christine took the flowers indifferently.  She kept marvelling at
+herself.  It seemed impossible that she was the same girl who had once
+walked these very streets with Jimmy, her heart beating fast with
+happiness.  Then, had he given her a bunch of violets, she would have
+thrilled at the little gift; but now--she tucked them carelessly into
+the front of her coat.  She did not notice when presently they fell
+out; but Jimmy had seen, and there was a curiously hurt look in his
+eyes.
+
+They walked through the park.  Jimmy met several people he knew; he
+raised his hat mechanically, making no attempt to stop and speak.
+
+Christine looked at everyone with a sense of antagonism.
+
+Of course all Jimmy's friends knew that once he had loved Cynthia
+Farrow; no doubt many of them had seen him walking with her through
+this very park.  Something of the old jealousy touched her for a
+moment.  She would never be able to forget, even If she lived for years
+and years; the memory of the woman who had wrecked her happiness would
+always be there between them--a shadow which it was impossible to
+banish.
+
+"What about some lunch?" said Jimmy presently.  He glanced at his
+watch.  "It's half past twelve."
+
+"I should like to ask Mr. Sangster to come with us," Christine said
+quickly.  "Is he anywhere--anywhere where we can find him?"
+
+"I can 'phone.  He's not on the 'phone himself, but the people
+downstairs will take a message, if you don't mind waiting for a moment."
+
+"I don't mind at all."
+
+She was dreading another _tete-a-tete_ lunch with her husband.  It had
+been in her mind all the morning to suggest that Sangster came with
+them.  She remembered bitterly how once Jimmy had suggested bringing
+his friend to share their wedding breakfast.  Things had strangely
+reversed themselves since that morning.
+
+She waited outside the call box while Jimmy went in; she watched him
+through the glass door.  He was standing with his hat at the back of
+his head, his elbow resting on the wooden box itself.  He looked very
+young, she thought, in spite of his slightly haggard appearance.
+Something in his attitude reminded her of him as he had been in his
+Eton days--long-legged and ungainly in his short jacket.  She smothered
+a little sigh.  They had drifted such a weary way since then; too far
+to ever retrace their steps.
+
+Presently he rejoined her.
+
+"I am sorry--Sangster is not in."
+
+"Oh!"  She looked disappointed.  "Is there--isn't there anyone else we
+can ask?"
+
+His eyes searched her flushed face bitterly.
+
+"You hate being alone with me as much as all that?"
+
+She looked away.
+
+"I only thought it would be more lively."
+
+"You find me such dull company."
+
+She made no reply.
+
+"Things have changed since we were engaged, haven't they?" said Jimmy
+then, savagely.  "You were pleased enough to be with me then; you never
+wanted a third."
+
+"Things are reversed--that is all," she told him unemotionally.
+
+He laughed ironically.
+
+"I don't think you know quite how successfully you are paying me out,"
+he said.
+
+"I would rather not talk about it," she interrupted.  "It can do no
+good.  I have done as you asked me; I told you I could do no more, that
+you must expect nothing more."
+
+There was a little silence.
+
+"I'm sorry," said Jimmy stiltedly.
+
+They lunched together.
+
+"I'll get some tickets for a theatre to-night," Jimmy said.  "That will
+kill the time, won't it?"
+
+"I didn't say I found the time drag," she told him.
+
+"No; but you look bored to death," he answered savagely.
+
+It was such an extraordinary situation--that Christine should ever be
+bored with him.  It cut Jimmy to the heart; he looked at her with anger.
+
+She was leaning back in her chair, looking round the room.  She was as
+little interested in him as he had once been in her.
+
+Twenty times during the day he cursed himself for the mad infatuation
+that had wrecked his happiness.  There was something so sweet and
+desirable about Christine.  He would have given his soul just then for
+one of her old radiant smiles; for just a glimpse of the light in her
+eyes which had always been there when she looked at him; for the note
+of shy happiness in her voice when she spoke to him.
+
+The days of delirium which he had spent with Cynthia Farrow seemed like
+an impossible dream now, when he looked back on them: the late nights
+and champagne suppers, the glare of the footlights, the glamour and
+grease paint of the theatre.  His soul sickened at the thought of the
+unnatural life he had led then.  All he wanted now was quiet
+happiness--the life of domesticity for which he had once pitied
+himself, believing it would be his lot as Christine's husband, seemed
+the most desirable thing on earth; just he and she--perhaps down in the
+country--walking through fields and woods, perhaps at Upton House, with
+the crowd of old memories to draw them together again, and wipe the
+hard bitterness from little Christine's brown eyes.
+
+It was pouring with rain when they left the restaurant; the bright
+sunshine of morning had utterly gone, the street was dripping, the
+pavements saturated.
+
+"We shall have to go home, I suppose," said Jimmy lugubriously.
+
+"Home?"  Christine looked up at him.  "Do you mean to the hotel?" she
+asked.
+
+"I suppose so, unless you would care to come to my rooms," said Jimmy,
+flushing a little.  "There's sure to be a fire there, and--and it's
+pretty comfortable."
+
+For a moment she hesitated, and his heart-beats quickened a little,
+hoping she would agree to the suggestion; but the next moment she shook
+her head.
+
+"I don't care to--thank you.  I will go back to the hotel."
+
+Jimmy hailed a taxi.  He looked moody and despondent once more.  They
+drove away in silence.
+
+Presently--
+
+"I will go to your rooms if--if you will answer me one thing," said
+Christine abruptly.
+
+Jimmy stared.  The colour ran into his pale face.
+
+"I will answer anything you like to ask me--you know I will."
+
+"Did--did Miss Farrow ever go to your rooms?"
+
+She asked the question tremblingly; she could not look at him.  With a
+sudden movement Jimmy dropped his face in his hands; the hot blood
+seemed to scorch him; this sudden mention of a name he had never wished
+to hear again was almost unbearable.
+
+"Yes," he said; "she did."  He looked up.  "Christine--don't condemn me
+like that," he broke out agitatedly.  He saw the cold disdain in her
+averted face.
+
+"She lived such a different life from anything you can possibly
+imagine.  It's--well--it's like being in another world.  Women on the
+stage think nothing of--of--the free-and-easy sort of thing.  She used
+to come to my rooms to tea.  She used to bring her friends in after the
+theatre--after rehearsals."  He leaned over as if to take her hand,
+then drew his own away again.  "I--I ask you to come now
+because--because I thought you would take away all the memories I want
+to forget.  Can't you ever forget too?  Can't you ever try and forgive
+me?  It's--it's--awful to think that we may have to live together all
+our lives and that you'll never look at me again as you used to--never
+be glad to see me, never want me to touch you."  His voice broke; he
+bit his lip till it bled.
+
+Christine clasped her hands hard in her lap.
+
+"It was awful to me too--once," she said dully.  "Awful to know that
+you didn't love me when I was so sure that you did.  But I've got over
+it.  I suppose you will too, some day, even if you think it hurts very
+much just now.  I dare say we shall be quite happy together in our own
+way some day.  Lots of married people are--quite happy together, and
+don't love each other at all."
+
+She dismissed him when they reached the hotel.  She went up to her room
+and cried.
+
+She did not know why she was crying; she only knew that she felt lonely
+and unhappy.  She would have given the world just then for someone to
+come in and put kind arms round her.  She would have given the world to
+know that there was someone to whom she really mattered, really counted.
+
+Jimmy only wanted her because he realised that she no longer wanted
+him.  The wedding ring of which she had been so proud was now an
+unwelcome fetter of which she would never again be free.
+
+They went to the theatre in the evening.  Jimmy had take great pains to
+make himself smart; it was almost pathetic the efforts he made to be
+bright and entertaining.  He told her that he had sent a note to
+Sangster to meet them afterwards for supper.  It gave him a sharp pang
+of jealousy to notice how Christine's eyes brightened.
+
+"I am so glad," she said.  "I like him so much."
+
+She was almost friendly to him after that.  Once or twice he made her
+laugh.
+
+He was very careful to keep always to impersonal subjects.  He behaved
+just as if they were good friends out for an evening of enjoyment.
+When they left the theatre Christine looked brighter than he had seen
+her for weeks.  Jimmy was profoundly grateful.  He was delighted that
+Sangster should see her with that little flush in her cheeks.  She did
+not look so very unhappy, he told himself.
+
+Sangster was waiting for them when they reached the supper-room.  He
+greeted Christine warmly.  He told her jokingly that he had got his
+dress-suit out of pawn in her honour.  He looked very well and happy.
+The little supper passed off cheerily enough.  It was only afterwards,
+when they all drove to the hotel where Christine was staying, that
+Sangster blundered; he held a hand to Jimmy when he had said good night
+to Christine.
+
+"Well, so long, old chap."
+
+Jimmy flushed crimson.
+
+"I'm not staying here.  Wait for me; I'm coming along."
+
+"You're a silly fool," Jimmy said savagely, as they walked away.  "What
+in the world did you want to say that for?"
+
+"My dear fellow, I thought it was all right.  I thought you'd made it
+up.  I'm awfully sorry."
+
+"We haven't made it up--never shall from what I can see," Jimmy snapped
+at him.  "Oh, for the Lord's sake let's talk about something else."
+
+Sangster raised his troubled eyes to the dark starless sky.  He had
+been so sure everything was all right.  Jimmy had made no recent
+confidence to him.  He had thought Christine looked well and happy--and
+now, after all. . . .
+
+"It looks as if we shall have some more rain," he said dully.  "It's
+been awful weather this week, hasn't it?"
+
+"Damn the weather!" said Jimmy Challoner.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+THE UNEXPECTED
+
+Four days passed away, and still the Great Horatio had not arrived in
+London.  He had sent a couple of telegrams from Marseilles explaining
+that a chill had delayed him.
+
+"Sly old dog," Jimmy growled to Sangster.  "He means that he's having a
+thundering good time where he is."
+
+Sangster laughed.
+
+"Marseilles isn't much of a place.  Perhaps he really is ill."
+
+Jimmy grunted something unintelligible.
+
+"I doubt it," he added.  "And the devil of it is that Christine doesn't
+believe me.  She doesn't think the old idiot's coming home at all; she
+doesn't believe anything I tell her--now."
+
+"Nonsense!"  But Sangster's eyes looked anxious.  He had seen a great
+deal during the last four days, and for the first time there was a tiny
+doubt in his mind.  Had Christine really lost her love for Jimmy?  He
+was obliged to admit that it seemed as if she had.  She never spoke to
+him if she could help it, and he knew that Jimmy was as conscious of
+the change as he, knew that Jimmy was worrying himself to a shadow.
+
+"Your brother will turn up when you're least expecting him," he said in
+his most matter-of-fact voice.  "You'll see if he doesn't--and then
+everything will come right."
+
+Jimmy grunted.  He fidgeted round the room and came to anchorage in
+front of the window.  He stood staring out into the not very cheerful
+street.
+
+Sangster knocked the ashes from his pipe and rose.
+
+"Well, we may as well be going," he said.  "I thought you told me we
+were to lunch with your wife."
+
+"So I did.  She's gone shopping this morning--didn't want me.  I said
+we'd meet her at the Savoy at one.  I want to call in at my rooms
+first, if you don't mind."  Jimmy spoke listlessly.  He was a great
+deal with Sangster nowadays.  Christine so often made excuses for him
+not to be with her, and he had got into that state when he could not
+tolerate his own company.  He dreaded being left to his thoughts; he
+would not be alone for a minute if he could help it.
+
+They left Sangster's rooms and went to Jimmy's.
+
+"I asked Christine to come here the other day," Jimmy said with a short
+laugh as he fitted his key in the door.  "She wouldn't, of course."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because Cynthia had been here."  He looked away from his friend's
+eyes.  "I don't blame her.  She'll never understand the difference.
+That--that other----  I wonder how it ever came about at all now, when
+I look back."
+
+Sangster followed him silently.
+
+"I shall give the d----d place up," Jimmy said sullenly.  "I can't
+afford to keep it on really; and if she won't come here----"
+
+Sangster made no comment.  Jimmy put his hat down on the table and went
+over to the sideboard for whisky and glasses.
+
+"Don't be a fool, Jimmy," said Sangster.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders when Jimmy told him to mind his own business.
+He turned away.
+
+"Here's a telegram," he said suddenly.
+
+Jimmy turned.
+
+"For me?"
+
+"Yes--your brother I expect."
+
+Jimmy snatched up the yellow envelope and tore it open.  He read the
+message through:
+
+"Coming to London to-night.  Meet me Waterloo eight-thirty."
+
+He laughed mirthlessly.
+
+"The Great Horatio?" Sangster asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+Jimmy had forgotten the whisky.  He took up his hat.
+
+"Come on; I must tell Christine."  He made for the door.
+
+"You'd better take the wire to show her," said Sangster.  They went out
+into the street together.
+
+"It's too early to go to the Savoy," said Jimmy.  He was walking very
+fast now.  There was a sort of eagerness in his face; perhaps he hoped
+that his brother's presence, as Sangster had said, would make all the
+difference.  "We'll hop along to the hotel and fetch her."
+
+He walked Sangster off his feet.  He pushed open the swing door of the
+hotel with an impatient hand.
+
+"Mrs. Challoner--my wife--is she in?"
+
+The hall porter looked at Jimmy curiously.  He thought he and Christine
+were the strangest married couple he had ever come across.  There was a
+little twinkle in his solemn eyes as he answered:
+
+"Mrs. Challoner went very early, sir.  She asked me to telephone to you
+at the Savoy at one o'clock and say she was sorry she would not be able
+to meet you----"
+
+"Not be able to meet me?" Jimmy's voice and face were blank.
+
+"That is what Mrs. Challoner said, sir.  She went out with a
+gentleman,--a Mr. Kettering, she told me to say, sir."
+
+Sangster turned sharply away.  For the first time for many weeks he was
+utterly and profoundly sorry for Jimmy Challoner, as he stood staring
+at the hall porter with blank eyes.  The eager flush had faded from his
+face; he looked, all at once, ill and old; he pulled himself together
+with an effort.
+
+"Oh!  All right--thanks--thanks very much."
+
+His voice sounded dazed.  He turned and went down the steps to the
+street; but when he reached the pavement he stood still again, as if he
+hardly knew what he was doing.  When Sangster touched his arm he
+started violently.
+
+"What is it?  Oh, yes--I'm coming."  He began to walk on at such a rate
+that Sangster could hardly keep pace with him.  He expostulated
+good-humouredly:
+
+"What's the hurry, old chap?  I'm getting old, remember."
+
+Jimmy slackened speed then.  He looked at his friend with burning eyes.
+
+"I'll break every bone in that devil's carcass," he said furiously.
+"I'll teach him to come dangling after my wife.  I ought to have known
+that was his little game.  No wonder she won't go anywhere with me.
+It's Kettering--damn his impertinence!  I suppose he's been setting her
+against me.  He and Horace always thought I was a rotter and an
+outsider.  I'll spoil his beauty for him; I'll----"  His voice had
+risen excitedly.  A man passing turned to stare curiously.
+
+Sangster slipped a hand through Jimmy's arm.
+
+"Don't be so hasty, old chap.  There's no harm in your wife going out
+to lunch with Kettering if she wants to.  Give her the benefit of the
+doubt for the present, at least."
+
+"She's chucked me for him.  She promised to meet me.  She thinks more
+of him than she does of me, or she'd never have gone."  There was a
+sort of enraged agony in Jimmy's voice, a fierce colour burned in his
+pale face.
+
+Sangster shrugged his shoulders.  It was rather amusing to him that
+Jimmy should be playing the jealous husband--Jimmy, whose own life had
+been so singularly selfish and full of little episodes which no doubt
+he would prefer to be buried and forgotten.
+
+Jimmy turned on him:
+
+"You're pleased, of course.  You're chuckling up your sleeve.  You
+think it serves me right--and I dare say it does; but I can't bear it,
+I tell you--I won't--I won't."
+
+The words were boyish enough, but there was something of real tragedy
+in his young voice, something that forced the realisation home to
+Sangster that perhaps it was not merely dog-in-the-manger jealousy that
+was goading him now, but genuine pain.  He looked at him quickly and
+away again.  Jimmy's face was twitching.  If he had been a woman one
+would have said that he was on the verge of an hysterical outburst.
+Sangster rose to the occasion.
+
+"Let's go and get a drink," he said prosaically.  "I'm as dry as dust
+and we haven't had any lunch."
+
+Jimmy said he wasn't hungry, that he couldn't eat a morsel of anything
+if it were to save his life.  He broke out again into a fresh torrent
+of abuse of Kettering.  He cursed him up hill and down dale.  Even when
+they were in the restaurant to which Sangster insisted on going he
+could not stop Jimmy's flow of expletives.  One or two people lunching
+near looked at them in amazement.  In desperation Sangster ordered a
+couple of brandies; he forced Jimmy to drink one.  Presently he quieted
+a little.  He sat with his elbows on the table and his head in his
+hands.  With the passing of his passionate rage, depression seemed to
+have gripped him.  He was sullen and morose, he would not answer when
+Sangster spoke to him; when they left the restaurant he insisted on
+going back to Christine's hotel.
+
+He questioned the porter closely.  Where had she gone?  Had they driven
+away together or walked?
+
+They had had a taxi, the man told him.  He began to look rather
+alarmed; there was something in Jimmy's white face and burning eyes
+that meant mischief, he thought.  He told the "Boots" afterwards: "We
+shall hear more of this--you mark _my_ words."
+
+"A taxi--yes. . . .  Go on."  Jimmy moistened his dry lips.  "You--you
+didn't hear where--what directions? . . ."
+
+"Yes, sir.  The gentleman told me to say Euston, told me to tell the
+driver to go to Euston, I mean, sir----" the man explained in
+confusion.  He was red in the face now and embarrassed.
+
+"Euston," said Jimmy and Sangster together.  They looked at one
+another, Jimmy with a sort of dread in his eyes, Sangster with anxiety.
+
+"Yes, sir.  Euston it was, I'm sure.  And the gentleman told me to tell
+the driver to go as fast as he could."
+
+There was a little silence.  Sangster slipped a hand through Jimmy's
+arm.
+
+"Thanks--thanks very much," he said.  He led Jimmy away.
+
+He called a taxi and told the man to drive to Jimmy's rooms.  He made
+no attempt to speak, did not know what to say.  Jimmy was leaning back
+with closed eyes.
+
+Presently:
+
+"Do you think she's gone?" he asked huskily.
+
+Sangster made a hurried gesture of denial:
+
+"No, no."
+
+Jimmy laughed mirthlessly.
+
+"She has," he said.  "I know she has.  Serves me damned well right.
+It's all I deserve."  There was a little pause.  "Well," he said,
+"she's more than got her own back, if it's any consolation to her to
+know it."
+
+He felt as if there were a knife being turned in his heart.  His whole
+soul revolted against this enforced pain.  He had never suffered like
+this in all his life before.  Even that night at the theatre, when
+Cynthia Farrow had given him his _conge_, he had not suffered as now;
+then, it had been more damage to his pride than his heart; but this--he
+loved Christine--he knew now that he loved little Christine as he had
+never loved any other woman, as he never would love anyone again.
+
+He cursed himself for a blind fool.  It goaded him to madness to think
+of the happiness that had been his for the taking, and which he had let
+fall to the ground.  He clenched his teeth in impotent rage.  When they
+reached his rooms he threw his hat and coat aside, and began pacing up
+and down as if he could not keep still for a moment.  Life was
+insufferable, intolerable; he could not imagine how he was going to get
+through all the stretch of years lying in wait for him.  He had
+forgotten that the Great Horatio was coming home that night; the Great
+Horatio had suddenly faded out of the picture; it was no longer a thing
+of importance if his allowance were cut down, or stopped once and for
+all.  All he wanted was Christine--Christine.  He would have given his
+soul for her at that moment, for just one glimpse of the old trust and
+love in her brown eyes, for just a sight of the happy smile with which
+she had greeted him when they were first engaged.  They had all been
+his once, and now he had lost her forever.
+
+Another man had taken and prized the treasure he had blindly thrown
+away.  Jimmy groaned as he paced up and down, up and down.
+
+Sangster was pretending to read.  He turned the pages of a magazine,
+but he saw nothing of what was written there.  In his own way he was as
+unhappy as Jimmy, in his own way he was suffering tortures of doubt and
+apprehension.
+
+He did not know Kettering; had only seen him once at Upton House; but
+he fully realised that the man had a strong personality, and one very
+likely to hold and keep such a nature as Christine's.
+
+But he could not bear to think of the shipwreck this meant for them
+all.  He could not believe that her love for Jimmy had died so
+completely; she had loved him so dearly.
+
+Jimmy came over to where he sat:
+
+"Go and ring up again, there's a dear chap," he said.  His voice was
+hoarse.  "Ring up the hotel for me, will you?  She may have come
+back. . . .  Oh, I hope to God she has," he added brokenly.
+
+Sangster rose at once.  He held out his hand.
+
+"I'm so sorry, Jimmy.  I'd give anything--anything----" he stopped.
+"But it's all right, you see," he added cheerily, struck by the despair
+in his friend's face.  "She'll be back there by now.  We're both
+getting scared about nothing. . . .  I'll ring up."
+
+He walked over to the desk where Jimmy's 'phone stood.  There was a
+moment of suspense as he rang and gave the number.
+
+Jimmy had begun his restless pacing once more.  His hands were deep
+thrust in his trousers pockets, his head bent.  His heart seemed to be
+hammering in his throat as he tried not to listen to what Sangster was
+saying--tried not to hear.
+
+"Yes. . . .  Challoner--Mrs. Challoner.  I only wondered if she had
+returned. . . .  Not yet--oh. . . .  Yes. . . .  A wire. . . .
+Yes. . . ."
+
+There was a little silence; a tragic silence it seemed to Jimmy.  He
+was standing still now.  He felt as if his limbs had lost all power of
+movement.  His eyes were fixed on Sangster's averted face.  After a
+moment Sangster hung up the receiver.
+
+He did not turn at once; when, at last, he moved, it was very slowly.
+He went across to Jimmy and laid a hand on his arm.  "She's not there,
+old man; but . . . but there's a wire from her--she wired to the
+manager. . . ."  He paused.  He looked away from the agony in Jimmy's
+eyes.  He tried twice to find his voice before he could go on, then:
+
+"She--she's not coming back to-night," he said.  "The--the wire was
+sent from--from Oxford . . ."
+
+And now the silence was like the silence of death.  Sangster held his
+breath.  He could feel the sudden rigidness of Jimmy Challoner's arm
+beneath his hand.
+
+Then Jimmy turned away and dropped into a chair by the table.  He fell
+forward with his face hidden in his outstretched arms.
+
+"Oh, my God!" he said in a hoarse whisper.
+
+It was so useless to try and offer any consolation.  Sangster stood
+looking at him with a suspicious moisture in his honest eyes.
+Christine--little Christine!  His heart felt as if it were breaking as
+he thought of her--of her love for Jimmy--of the first days of their
+engagement.  And now it was in vain that he tried to remember that
+Jimmy was to blame for it all.  He tried to harden his heart against
+him; but, somehow, he could not.  He went over to where he sat and laid
+a kind hand on his shoulder.
+
+"Don't give up yet, boy."  At that moment he felt years older than his
+friend.  "There may be some mistake.  Don't let's give up till we're
+sure--quite sure----"
+
+Jimmy raised his face.  His lips were grey and pinched.
+
+"It's no use," he said hopelessly.  "No use. . . .  Somehow I know
+it. . . .  Oh, my God!  If I could only have it over again--just a
+day. . . ."  The anguish in his voice would have wrung a harder heart
+than Sangster's.  For a moment there was unbroken silence in the room.
+Then Jimmy struggled to his feet.
+
+"I must go after her.  She won't come back, I know.  But at least I can
+try. . . .  It may not be too late----  Kettering--damn him! . . ."  He
+broke off.  He stood for a moment swaying to and fro.
+
+Sangster caught his arm.
+
+"You're not fit to go.  Let me. . . .  I'll do all I can. . .  I give
+you my word of honour that I'll move heaven and earth to find her.  And
+we may be mistaken.  We may. . . ."  He broke off.  Someone had knocked
+softly on the door.  For a moment neither of them answered, then the
+handle was softly turned, and Christine stood there on the
+threshold. . . .
+
+Sangster caught his breath hard in his throat.  He looked at her, and
+he had to hold himself back with an iron hand to keep from rushing to
+her, from falling at her feet in abasement for the very real doubt and
+dread that he had cherished against her.
+
+She looked so young--such a child, and her brown eyes were so sweet and
+shy as she looked at Jimmy--never at him.  He realised it with a little
+stabbing pain that it was not once at him that she looked, but past
+him, to where Jimmy stood like a man turned to stone.
+
+Then: "Christine," said Jimmy Challoner with a great cry.
+
+He put out his hand and touched her, almost as if he doubted that she
+was real.  His breath was coming fast; he was ashen pale.
+
+"Christine," he said again in a whisper.
+
+Sangster moved past him.  He did not look at Christine any more.  He
+walked to the door and opened it.  He hesitated a moment, wondering if
+either of them would see him going, be conscious of his presence.  But
+he might not have been there for all they knew.  He went out slowly and
+shut the door behind him.
+
+It was the shutting of the door that broke the spell, that roused Jimmy
+from the lethargy into which he had fallen.  He tried to laugh.
+
+"I'm sorry.  I--I didn't expect you."  The words sounded foolish to
+himself.  He tried to cover them.  "Won't you sit down?  I'm--I'm
+glad. . . ."  A wave of crimson surged to his face.  "Oh, my God!  I am
+glad to see you," he said hoarsely.
+
+He groped backwards for his chair and fell into it.
+
+A most humiliating weakness came over him.  He hid his face in his
+hands.
+
+Christine stood looking at him with troubled eyes; then she put out her
+hand and touched him timidly:
+
+"Jimmy!"
+
+He caught her hand and carried it to his lips.  He kissed it again and
+again--the little fingers, the soft palm, the slender wrist.
+
+"I thought I should never see you again.  I couldn't have borne
+it. . . .  Christine--oh my dear, forgive me, forgive me.  I'm so
+wretched, so utterly, utterly miserable. . . ."
+
+The appeal was so boyish--so like the old selfish Jimmy whom Christine
+had loved and spoilt in the days when they were both children.  It
+almost seemed as if the years were rolled away again and they were down
+at Upton House, making up a childish quarrel--Jimmy asking for pardon,
+she only too anxious to kiss and be friends.
+
+Tears swam into her eyes and her lips trembled; but she did not move.
+
+"I want to tell you something," she said slowly.
+
+He looked up, his eyes full of a great dread.
+
+"Not that you're going away--I can't bear it.  You'll drive me
+mad--Christine--little Christine."  He was on his knees beside her now,
+his arms round her waist, his face buried in the soft folds of her
+dress.  "Forgive me, Christine--forgive me.  I love you so, and I've
+been punished enough.  I thought you'd gone away with that devil--that
+brute Kettering.  I've been half mad!"  He flung back his head and
+looked at her.  She was very flushed.  Her eyes could not meet his.
+
+"That's--that's just what I want to tell you," she said in a whisper.
+
+Jimmy's arms fell from about her.  He rose to his feet slowly; he tried
+to speak, but no words would come.  Then, quite suddenly, he broke down
+into sobbing.
+
+He was very much of a boy still, was Jimmy Challoner.  Perhaps he would
+never grow up into a man as Kettering and Sangster understood the word;
+but his very boyishness was what Christine had first loved in him.
+Perhaps he could have chosen no surer or swifter way to her forgiveness
+than this. . . .
+
+In a moment her arms were round his neck.  She tried to draw his head
+down to her shoulder.  Her sweet face was all concern and motherly
+tenderness as she kissed him and kissed him.
+
+"Don't, Jimmy--don't!  Oh, I do love you--I do love you."
+
+She began to cry too, and they kissed and clung together like children
+who have quarrelled and are sorry.
+
+Jimmy drew her into his arms, and they sat clasping one another in the
+big arm-chair.  It was a bit of a squeeze, but neither of them minded.
+His arms were round her now, her head on his shoulder.  He kissed her
+every minute.  He said that he had all the byegone years of both their
+lives to make up for.  He asked her a hundred times if she really loved
+him; if she had forgiven him; and if she loved him as much as she had
+done a month ago--two months ago; if she loved him as much as when they
+were children; and if she would love him all his life and hers.
+
+"All my life and yours," she told him with trembling lips.
+
+He had kissed the colour back to her cheeks by this time.  She looked
+more like the girl he had seen that fateful night in the stalls at the
+theatre.  He kissed her eyes because he said they were so beautiful.
+He kissed her hair.
+
+Presently she drew a little away from him.
+
+"But I want to talk to you," she said.  She would not look at him.  She
+sat nervously twisting his watch-chain.
+
+"Yes," said Jimmy.  He lifted her hand and held it against his lips all
+the time she spoke.
+
+"It's about--about Mr. Kettering," she said in a whisper.
+
+Jimmy swore--a sign that he was feeling much better.
+
+"I don't want to hear his confounded name."
+
+"Oh, but you must--Jimmy.  I--I--he----"
+
+"He's been making love to you----"
+
+No answer.  Jimmy took her face in his hands, searching its flushed
+sweetness with jealous eyes.
+
+"Has he?" he demanded savagely.
+
+"N-no . . . but . . . oh, Jimmy, don't look like that.  He only came up
+this morning because--because Gladys is ill.  He thought I ought to
+know and--and--I thought I would go down and see her.  But in the
+train----" she faltered.
+
+"Yes . . ." said Jimmy from between his teeth.
+
+Christine raised her brown eyes.
+
+"He said--he said----"  Suddenly she fell forward, hiding her face
+against his coat.  "Oh, it doesn't matter, dear; it doesn't matter,
+because it was then that I knew it was only you I wanted--only you I
+loved.  I knew that I couldn't bear any other man to say that he loved
+me--that it was you--only you."
+
+"Oh, my sweet!" said Jimmy huskily.  He turned her face and kissed her
+lips.  "I don't deserve it; but--oh, Christine, do believe that there's
+never been anyone like you in my life; that I've never cared for anyone
+as I do for you--all that--that other----"
+
+"I know--I know," she was thinking remorsefully of the days when
+Kettering had seemed to come before Jimmy in her heart; of the days
+when she had been unhappy because he stayed away.  And now there was a
+deep thankfulness in her heart that he himself had brought things to a
+climax.  She had been so pleased to see him when he called at the hotel
+that morning.  She had never dreamed that sheer longing had driven him
+to London to see her, or that he had made Gladys the excuse.  She had
+readily agreed to a run down to Upton House to see Gladys.  She had
+started off with him quite happily and unsuspectingly.  And then--even
+now it sent a little shiver of dread through her to think of the way he
+had spoken--the way he had pleaded with her--looked at her.
+
+He had held her hands, kissed them, he had tried to kiss her, and it
+had been the touch of his lips that had melted the numbness of her
+heart and told her that she loved Jimmy; that in spite of everything
+that had happened, everything he had done, he was the one and only man
+who would ever count in her life.  Passionate revulsion had driven her
+back to London.  She had parted with Kettering then and there.  She had
+told him that she never wished to see him again.  She had felt as if
+she could never be happy till she was back with Jimmy, till she had
+made it up with him, till they had kissed and forgiven one another.
+She told him all this now simply enough.  The little Christine of
+happier days had come back from the land of shadowy memories to which
+she had retreated as she sat on Jimmy's knee and kissed him between
+their little broken sentences and asked him to forgive her.
+
+"I've never, never loved anyone but you, Jimmy," she said earnestly.
+"I've never really loved anyone but you."
+
+And Jimmy said, "Thank God!"
+
+He looked at her with passionate thankfulness and love.  He told her
+all that he had suffered since he went to the hotel and found she had
+gone.  He said that she had punished him even more than she could ever
+have hoped.
+
+"And that wire----  There was a wire to say that you were not coming
+back," he said with sudden bitter memory.  She nodded.
+
+"I sent it from Oxford.  We had to change there.  I meant to stay with
+Gladys.  Poor Gladys!" she added with a little soft laugh of happiness.
+
+"She can do without you--I can't," he said quickly.
+
+"Really and truly?" she asked wistfully.
+
+Jimmy drew her again into his arms.  He held her soft cheek to his own.
+
+"I've never really wanted anything or anyone badly in all my life until
+now," he said.  "Now you're here, in my arms, and I've got the whole
+world."
+
+They sat silent for a little.
+
+"Happy?" asked Jimmy in a whisper.
+
+Christine nodded.
+
+"Quite--quite happy," she told him.
+
+Presently:
+
+"Jimmy, you won't--you won't be horrid to--to Mr. Kettering, will you?
+He was kind to me--he was very kind to me when--when I was so unhappy."
+
+"Were you very unhappy, my sweet?"
+
+"Dreadfully."
+
+"I'm sorry, darling--so sorry.  I can't tell you."
+
+Christine kissed him.
+
+"You won't ever be unkind again, Jimmy?"
+
+"Never--never!  Do you believe me?"
+
+She looked into his eyes.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you do love me?"
+
+Christine made a little grimace.
+
+"I'm tired of answering that question."
+
+"I shall never be tired of asking it," he said.  "And about Kettering?
+We shan't ever need to see him again, shall we?  So there'll be no
+chance for me to tell him that I should like to punch his beastly head."
+
+Christine laughed happily, then she grew serious all at once.
+
+"Jimmy, do you know that I somehow think he will marry Gladys----"
+
+"_What_!" said Jimmy in amazement.
+
+She nodded seriously.
+
+"I believe Gladys likes him.  I don't know, but I do believe she does.
+And she'd make him a splendid wife."
+
+Jimmy screwed up his nose.
+
+"Don't let's talk about her," he said.  "I'd much rather talk about my
+own wife----"
+
+Christine flushed.
+
+"Do you think I shall make a--_nice_ wife, Jimmy?" she asked in a
+whisper.
+
+Jimmy caught her to his heart.
+
+"Do I?  Darling--I can't--somehow I can't answer that question.  I'm
+not half good enough for you.  I don't deserve that you----" he began
+brokenly.
+
+She laid her hand on his lips.
+
+"You're not to say rude things about my husband," she told him with
+pretended severity.
+
+He kissed the hand that covered his mouth.
+
+"And so when the Great Horatio comes----" said Christine.  Jimmy gave a
+stifled exclamation; he dragged his watch from his pocket.
+
+"By Jove!" he said.
+
+"What's the matter?" she asked anxiously.
+
+He explained:
+
+"I had a wire from the old chap.  We were to meet him at Waterloo this
+evening at eight-thirty; it's nearly eight now."
+
+Christine climbed down from his knee with a sudden show of dignity.
+
+"We must go at once--of course we must."  She came back for a moment to
+his arms.  "Oh, Jimmy, aren't you _glad_ that we're really--_really_
+all right, that we haven't got to pretend now the Great Horatio is
+home?"
+
+"I can never tell you how glad," said Jimmy humbly.
+
+They kissed, and Christine danced over to the looking-glass to put her
+hat straight.
+
+Jimmy watched her with adoring eyes.  Suddenly:
+
+"I shall tell him that we can't stay after to-night," he said
+decidedly.  "I shall tell him that he can't possibly expect it."
+
+Christine looked round.
+
+"Tell whom--your brother?  What do you mean--that he can't expect it?"
+
+Jimmy put an arm round her.
+
+"I shall tell him--don't you know what I shall tell him?" he said
+fondly.  He bent his head suddenly to hers.  "I'll tell him that we're
+going away to-morrow"--his voice dropped to a whisper--"on a second
+honeymoon."
+
+"Oh!" said Christine softly.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECOND HONEYMOON***
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