“You are not staying here then?”

He coloured a little.

“No; I thought you would prefer that I did not.  I shall be at my rooms—­if you want me.”

“Very well.”  She just touched the tips of his fingers.  The next moment she was walking alone up the wide staircase.

She never slept all night.  Though she had felt tired at the end of her journey, she never once closed her eyes now.

She wished she had not come.  She hated Jimmy for having persuaded her; she hated Gladys for having practically told her that it was her duty to do as he wished; she hated Jimmy afresh because now, having got her to London, he had gone off and left her.

She did not choose to believe that he had really done so because he thought she would prefer it.  She felt lonely and deserted; tears welled into her eyes.

“A second honeymoon!” What a farce it all was.

It seemed an eternity before the rumble of traffic sounded again in the streets and the first grey daylight crept through the blind chinks.

She wondered what Gladys was doing, what Kettering was doing, and if he knew that she had gone, and where.

She deliberately conjured the memory of his eyes and voice as he had last looked at her and spoken.

Her heart beat a little faster at the memory.  She knew well enough that he loved her, and for a moment she wondered what life would be like with him to always care for her and shield her.

He was much older than Jimmy.  She did not realise that perhaps his knowledge of women and the way in which they liked to be treated was the result of a long apprenticeship during which he had had time to overcome the impulsive, headlong blunderings through which Jimmy was still stumbling.

She was up and dressed early; she had had her breakfast and was ready to go out when Jimmy arrived.  He looked disappointed.  He had made an effort and got up unusually early for him in order to be round at the hotel before Christine could possibly expect him.  He asked awkwardly if she had slept well.  She looked away from him as she answered impatiently: 

“I never sleep well in London—­I hate it.”

He bit his lip.

“I’m sorry.  What would you like to do this morning?”

“I’m going out.”

“You mean that you don’t wish me to come?”

Christine shrugged her shoulders.

“Come if you wish—­certainly.”

They left the hotel together.  It was a bright sunny morning, and London was looking its best.  Christine rushed into haphazard speech.

“Have you heard from your brother again?”

“No; I hardly expected to.”

Something in the constraint of his voice made her look at him quickly.

“I suppose—­I suppose he really is coming?” she said with sudden suspicion.

Jimmy flushed scarlet.

“I haven’t deserved that,” he said.