entary 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 Sa