"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