or you?" He did not wait for her answer; he gave the
girl a shilling.

Christine took the flowers indifferently. She kept marvelling at
herself. It seemed impossible that she was the same girl who had once
walked these very streets with Jimmy, her heart beating fast with
happiness. Then, had he given her a bunch of violets, she would have
thrilled at the little gift; but now--she tucked them carelessly into
the front of her coat. She did not notice when presently they fell
out; but Jimmy had seen, and there was a curiously hurt look in his
eyes.

They walked through the park. Jimmy met several people he knew; he
raised his hat mechanically, making no attempt to stop and speak.

Christine looked at everyone with a sense of antagonism.

Of course all Jimmy's friends knew that once he had loved Cynthia
Farrow; no doubt many of them had seen him walking with her through
this very park. Something of the old jealousy touched her for a
moment. She would never be able to forget, even If she lived for years
and years; the memory of the woman who had wrecked her happiness would
always be there between them--a shadow which it was impossible to
banish.

"What about some lunch?" said Jimmy presently. He glanced at his
watch. "It's half past twelve."

"I should like to ask Mr. Sangster to come with us," Christine said
quickly. "Is he anywhere--anywhere where we can find him?"

"I can 'phone. He's not on the 'phone himself, but the people
downstairs will take a message, if you don't mind waiting for a moment."

"I don't mind at all."

She was dreading another _tete-a-tete_ lunch with her husband. It had
been in her mind all the morning to suggest that Sangster came with
them. She remembered bitterly how once Jimmy had suggested bringing
his friend to share their wedding breakfast. Things had strangely
reversed themselves since that morning.

She waited outside the call box while Jimmy went in; she watched him
through the glass door. He was standing with his hat at the back of
his head, his elbow resting on the wooden box itself. He looked very
young, she thought, in spite of his slightly haggard appearance.
Something in his attitude reminded her of him as he had been in his
Eton days--long-legged and ungainly in his short jacket. She smothered
a little sigh. They had drifted such a weary way since then; too far
to ever retrace their steps.

Presently he rejoined her.

"I am sorry--Sangster is not in.