I feel such an awful brute," he began agitatedly. "I don't deserve
that you should consider me in the least. I--I'll do my best,
Christine."

She seemed to avoid looking at him. She moved quickly past him.

"Don't let's talk about it," she said nervously. "I'd much rather we
did not talk about it." She went on into the dining-room without him.

Jimmy stood for a moment irresolute, he could not believe that it was
Christine who had spoken to him like this. Christine, who so obviously
wished to avoid being with him.

A sudden flame of jealousy seared his heart, he clenched his fists.
Kettering--damn the fellow, how dared he make love to another man's
wife!

But he had conquered his agitation before he followed Christine. He
did his best to be cheerful and amusing during dinner. He was rewarded
once by seeing the pale ghost of a smile on Christine's sad little
face; it was as if for a moment she allowed him to raise the veil of
disillusionment that had fallen between them and step back into the old
happy days when they had played at sweethearts.

But the dinner was over all too soon, and Gladys said it was time to
think about trains, and she talked and hustled very cleverly, giving
them no time to feel awkward or embarrassed. She was going to escort
them to the station, she declared, conscious, perhaps, that both of
them would be glad of her company; she said that she wished, she could
come with them all the way, but that, of course, they did not want her.
And neither of them dared to contradict her, though secretly Jimmy and
Christine would both have given a great deal had she suddenly changed
her mind and insisted on accompanying them to London.

She stood at the door of the railway carriage until the last minute;
she sent all manner of absurd messages, to the Great Horatio; she told
Christine to be sure, to give him her love; she kept up a running fire
of chaff and banter till the train started away, and a pompous guard
told her to "Stand back, there!" and presently the last glimpse of
Christine's pale little face and Jimmy's worried eyes had been
swallowed up in the darkness of evening.

Then Gladys turned to walk home alone with a feeling of utter
desolation in her heart and an undignified smarting of tears in her
eyes.

"I hope to goodness I've done the right thing in letting her go," she
thought, as she turned out on to the dark road again. "I hope--I beg
your pardon," she had bumped into a tall