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.

"