ngster afraid to tell her, she wondered? Or was
this merely Sangster's way of trying to bring them together again?

But Jimmy did not want her; even if he were dying Jimmy would not want
to see her again.

If he had cared he would never have consented to this separation; if he
had cared--but, of course, he did not care!

She began to cry softly; big tears ran down her cheeks, and she brushed
them angrily away.

She had tried to shut him out of her heart. She had tried to forget
him. In a defensive, innocent way she had deliberately encouraged
Kettering. She liked him, and he helped her to forget; it restored her
self-esteem to read the admiration in his kind eyes, it helped to
soothe the hurt she had suffered from Jimmy's hands; and yet, in spite
of it all, he was not Jimmy, and nobody could ever take Jimmy's place.
She kept away from Gladys till lunch time, when at last she appeared,
her eyes were red and swollen, and she held her head defiantly high.
Gladys considerately let her alone. Somehow, in spite of everything,
she quite expected to hear that Christine was off to London by the
afternoon train, but the meal passed almost in silence, and when it was
finished Christine said:

"We'd better get ready; Mr. Kettering will be there at two."

Gladys turned away.

"I'd rather not go, if you don't mind," she said uncomfortably.

"Not--go!"

"No--I--I don't care about motoring. I--I've got a headache too."

Christine stared at her, then she laughed defiantly.

"Oh, very well; please yourself."

She went upstairs to dress; she took great pains to make herself look
pretty. When Kettering arrived she noticed that his eyes went past her
gloomily as if looking for someone else.

"Gladys is not coming," she said.

His face brightened.

"Not coming! Ought I to be sorry, I wonder?"

She laughed.

"That's rude."

"I'm sorry." He tucked the rug round her, and they started away down
the drive. "You don't want the wheel, I suppose?" he asked whimsically.

Christine shook her head.

"Have you--you been crying?" Kettering asked abruptly.

Christine flushed scarlet.

"Whatever makes you ask me that?"

"Your eyes are red," he told her gently.

She looked up at him with resentment, and suddenly the tears came
again. Kettering bit his lip hard. He did not speak for some time.

"I've got a headache," Christine said at last with an effort. "I--oh,
I know it's silly. Don't laugh at me."

"I'm no