diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 17446-8.txt | 9016 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 17446-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 131904 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 17446.txt | 9016 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 17446.zip | bin | 0 -> 131890 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
7 files changed, 18048 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/17446-8.txt b/17446-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a176f25 --- /dev/null +++ b/17446-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9016 @@ +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-8859-1 + + +***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 fiancé 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 naïvely. + +"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 _tête-à-tête_ 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 _congé_, 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*** + + +******* This file should be named 17446-8.txt or 17446-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/4/4/17446 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://www.gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: +http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/17446-8.zip b/17446-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..938b9ca --- /dev/null +++ b/17446-8.zip diff --git a/17446.txt b/17446.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..26161b2 --- /dev/null +++ b/17446.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9016 @@ +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*** + + +******* This file should be named 17446.txt or 17446.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/4/4/17446 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://www.gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: +http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/17446.zip b/17446.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..66f7038 --- /dev/null +++ b/17446.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5db212c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #17446 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17446) |