hilling 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 unselfishne