Jimmy flushed.

“True! what the——­”

The other man stopped him with a gesture.

“Don’t be an ass, Jimmy; I haven’t known you all these years for nothing. . . .  Is it true that Cynthia’s chucked you?”

“Yes.”  Jimmy’s voice was hard.  He stared up at the ceiling under scowling brows.

Sangster said “Humph!” with a sort of growl.  He scratched his chin reflectively.

“Well, I can’t say I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.  “It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you, my son.”

Jimmy’s eyes travelled down from the ceiling slowly; perhaps it was coincidence that they rested on the place on the mantelshelf where Cynthia’s portrait used to stand.

“Think so?” he said gruffly.  “You never liked her.”

“I did—­but not as your wife. . . .  She’s much more suited to Henson Mortlake—­I always thought so.  He’ll keep her in order; you never could have done.”

Jimmy had been standing with his elbow on the mantelpiece; he swung round sharply.

“Mortlake; what’s he got to do with it?” he asked fiercely.  “What the deuce do you mean by dragging him in?  It was nothing to do with Mortlake that she—­she——­”

Sangster was looking at him curiously.

“Oh!  I understood—­what was the reason, then?” he asked.

Jimmy turned away.  He found the other man’s eyes somehow disconcerting.

“She’s married already,” he said in a stifled voice.  “I—­I always knew she had been married, of course.  She made no secret of it.  He—­the brute—­left her years ago; but last week—­well, he turned up again. . . .  She—­we—­we had always believed he was dead.”

There was a little silence.  Sangster was no longer looking at Jimmy; he was staring into the fire.  Presently he began to whistle softly.  Jimmy rounded on him.

“Oh, shut up!” he said irritably.

Sangster stopped at once.  After a moment: 

“And the—­er—­husband!” he submitted dryly.  “You’ve—­you’ve seen him, of course.”

“No, I haven’t.  If I did—­if I did, I’d break every bone in his infernal carcase,” said Jimmy Challoner, between his teeth.

He stared down at his friend with defiant, eyes as he spoke.

Sangster said “Humph!” again.  Then:  “Well, there’s as good fish in the sea as any that were caught,” he said cheerily.  “Look at it philosophically, old son.”

Jimmy kicked a footstool out of his way.  He walked over to the window, and stood for a moment with his back turned.  Presently: 

“If anyone asks you, you might as well tell them the truth,” he said jerkily.  “I—­don’t let them think that brute Mortlake——­”

He broke off.

“I’ll tell ’em the truth,” said Sangster.

He leaned over the fire, poking it vigorously.

“What are you doing to-night, Jimmy?” he asked, “I’m at a loose end——­”