ows how--if he
knows that we--" He floundered helplessly.

"You mean if he knows that you married me out of pique, and that I
found it out?" she added bitterly.

He attempted no defence; he stood there miserable and silent.

"You can tell him what you like," said Christine, after a moment. "I
don't care in the very least."

"I know you don't. I quite realise that; but--but if, just for the
sake of appearances, you felt you could be sufficiently forgiving
to--to come back to me, just--just for a little while, I mean," he
added with an embarrassed rush. "I--I wouldn't bother you. I--I'd let
you do just as you liked. I wouldn't ask anything. I--I----"

Christine laughed.

"You are inviting me to have a second honeymoon, in fact. Is that it?"
she asked bitterly. "Thank you very much. I enjoyed the first so
tremendously that, of course, it is only natural you should think I
must be anxious to repeat the experiment."

Jimmy flushed to the roots of his hair.

"I deserve everything you can say. I haven't any excuse to offer; and
I know you'll never believe it if I were to tell you that--that when
Cynthia----"

She put up her hands to her eyes with a little shudder.

"I don't want to hear anything about her; I don't ever want to hear her
name again."

"I'm sorry, dear." The word of endearment slipped out unconsciously.
Christine's little figure quivered; suddenly she began to sob.

She wanted someone to be kind to her so badly. The one little word of
endearment was like a ray of sunshine touching the hard bitterness of
her heart, melting it, breaking her down.

"Christine!" said Jimmy in a choked voice.

He went over to her. He put an arm round her, drawing her nearer to
the fire. He made her sit in the arm-chair, and he knelt beside her,
holding her hand. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to say all the many
passionate words of remorse that rose to his lips, but somehow he was
afraid. He was not sure of her yet. He was afraid of startling her,
of driving her back into cold antagonism and suspicion.

Presently she stopped sobbing; she freed her hand and wiped away the
tears.

"It was silly to cry," she said jerkily. "There was nothing to cry
for." She was ashamed that she had broken down; angry that the cause
of her grief had been that one little word of endearment spoken by
Jimmy.

He rose to his feet and went to stand by the mantelshelf, staring down
into the fire.

There was a long sile