ss; 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