s never going to see you any more," Christine said
rather nervously. "Are you angry with me?"

"Angry!" He laughed a little. "Why ever should I be angry with
you? . . . I--the fact is, I've been in London on business."

"Oh!" She looked rather sceptical; she raised her chin a dignified
inch. "You ought to have told me," she said, unthinkingly.

He looked at her quickly and away again.

"I missed you," said Christine naively.

"That is very kind of you." There was a little silence. "May I--may I
walk a little way with you?" he asked diffidently.

"If you care to."

He checked a smile. "I shall be delighted," he said gravely.

They set out together.

Christine felt wonderfully light-hearted all at once; her eyes
sparkled, her cheeks were flushed. Kettering hardly looked at her at
all. It made him afraid because he was so glad to be with her once
more; he knew now how right Gladys had been when she asked him not to
come to Upton House again. He rushed into conversation; he told her
that the weather had been awful in London, and that he had been
hopelessly bored. "I know so few people there," he said. "And I kept
wondering what you were----" He broke off, biting his lip.

"What I was doing?" Christine finished it for him quickly. "Well, I
was sitting at the window most of the time, wondering why you didn't
come and see me," she said with a laugh.

"Were you----"

She frowned a little; she looked up at him with impatient eyes.

"What is the matter? I know something is the matter; I can feel that
there is. You are angry with me; you----"

"My dear child, I assure you I am not. There is nothing the matter
except, perhaps I am a little--worried and--and unhappy."

He laughed to cover his sudden gravity. "Tell me about yourself
and--and Jimmy. How is Challoner?"

He had never spoken to her of Jimmy before; his name had been tacitly
unmentioned between them. Christine flushed; she shrugged her
shoulders. "I don't know; he wasn't very well last week, but I dare
say he is all right again now." Her voice was very flippant. In spite
of himself Kettering was shocked; he hated to hear her speak like that;
he had always thought her so sweet and unaffected.

"He ought to come down here for a change," he said in his most
matter-of-fact tones. "Why don't you insist that he comes down here
for a change? Country air is a fine doctor; he would enjoy it."

"I don't think he would; he hates the