ided him that evening and left the
theatre with Mortlake. Jimmy hated Mortlake. The brute had such piles
of money, whilst he--even the insufficient income which was always
mortgaged weeks before the quarterly cheque fell due, only came to him
from his brother. At any moment the Great Horatio might cut up rough
and stop supplies.

Jimmy was up and dressed earlier than ever before in his life. He went
out and bought some of the most expensive roses he could find in the
shops. He took them himself to Cynthia Farrow's flat and scribbled a
note begging her to see him if only for a moment.

The answer came back verbally. Miss Farrow sent her love and best
thanks but she was very tired and her head ached--would he call again
in the afternoon?

Challoner turned away without answering. There was a humiliating lump
in his throat. At that moment he was the most wretched man in the
whole of London. How on earth could he get through the whole infernal
morning? And was she always going to treat him like this in the
future? refusing to see him--deliberately avoiding him.

He wandered about the West End, staring into shop windows. At twelve
o'clock he was back again at his rooms. A messenger boy was at the
door when he reached it. He held a letter which Challoner took from
him. It was from Cynthia Farrow.

He tore it open anyhow. His pulses throbbed with excitement. She had
relented, of course, and wanted to see him at once. He was so sure of
it that it was like a blow over the heart when he read the short note.

DEAR JIMMY,--I am afraid you will be hurt at what I am going to say,
but I am sure it is better for us not to meet again. It only makes
things harder for us both, and can do no good. I ought to have said
good-bye to you last night, only at the last moment I hadn't the
courage. If you really care for me you will keep away, and make no
attempt to see me. I can never marry you, and though we have had some
very happy days together, I hope that you will forget me. Please don't
write, either; I really mean what I say, that this is good-bye.

CYNTHIA.

The messenger boy fidgeted uncomfortably, staring at Jimmy Challoner's
white face. Presently he ventured a question. "Is there an answer,
sir?"

Challoner turned then, "No, no answer."

He let himself into his rooms and shut the door. He felt as if he were
walking in space. For the moment he was unconscious of any emotion.

He walked over to