Jimmy turned.

“I’m taking some people to the theatre—­old friends!  Met them quite by chance the other night.  Haven’t you heard me speak of them—­the Wyatts?”

“By Jove, yes!” Sangster dropped the poker unceremoniously.  “People from Upton House.  You used to be full of them when I first knew you, and that’s how many years ago, Jimmy?”

“The Lord only knows!” said Jimmy dispiritedly.  “Well, I’ve got a box for a show to-night, and asked them to come.  Christine’s dead nuts on theatres.  Remember Christine?”

“I remember the name.  Old sweetheart of yours, wasn’t she?”

“When we were kids.”

“Oh, like that, is it?  Well, ask me to come along too.”

“My dear fellow—­come by all means.”

Jimmy was rather pleased at the suggestion.  “You’ll like Mrs.
Wyatt—­she’s one of the best.”

“And—­Christine?”

“Oh she’s all right; but she’s only a child still,” said Jimmy
Challoner with all the lordly superiority of half a dozen years.

CHAPTER V

SANGSTER TAKES A HAND

“And so you and Jimmy were children together,” said Arthur Sangster.

The curtain had just fallen on the first act, and the lights turned up suddenly in the theatre had revealed Christine’s face to him a little flushed and dreamy.

Sangster looked at her smilingly.  Jimmy had called her a child; but he had not said how sweet a child she was, he thought, as his eyes rested on her dainty profile and parted lips.

She seemed to wake from dreaming at the sound of his voice.  She gave a little sigh, and leaned back in her chair.

“Yes,” she said.  “We used to play together when we were children.”

“Such a long, long time ago,” said Sangster, half mockingly, half in earnest.

She nodded seriously.

“It seems ages and ages,” she said.  She looked past him to where Jimmy sat talking to her mother.  He might have sat next to her, she thought wistfully.  Mr. Sangster was very nice, but—­she caught a little sigh between her lips.

“Jimmy has told me so much about you,” Sangster said.  “I almost feel as if I have known you for years.”

“Has he?” That pleased her, at all events.  Her brown eyes shone as she looked at him.  “What did he tell you?” she asked, interestedly.

Sangster laughed.

“Oh, all about Upton House, and the fine time you used to have there; all about the dogs, and an old horse named Judas.”

She laughed too, now.

“Judas—­he died last year.  He was so old, and nearly blind; but he always knew my step and came to the gate.”  Her voice sounded wistful.  “Jimmy used to ride him round the field, standing up on his back,” she went on eagerly.  “Jimmy could ride anything.”

“Jimmy is a very wonderful person,” said Sangster gravely.