A man and woman had just entered.  The woman was in evening dress, with a beautiful sable coat.  Her hand was resting on the man’s arm.  She was looking up at him with smiling eyes.

Jimmy caught his breath hard in his throat.  For a moment the gaily lit room swam before him—­for the woman was Cynthia Farrow, and the man at her side was Henson Mortlake.

CHAPTER VI

JIMMY DEMANDS THE TRUTH

Sangster had been sitting with his back to the door by which Cynthia and her escort had entered.  When he saw the sudden change in Jimmy Challoner’s face, he turned in his chair quickly.

Cynthia was seated now.  She was languidly drawing off her long white gloves.  A waiter had taken her sable coat; without it the elaborate frock she wore looked too showy; it was cut too low in the neck.  A diamond necklace glittered on her white throat.

Sangster turned back again.  Under cover of the table he gave Jimmy a kick.  He saw that Christine had noticed the sudden change in his face.  To hide his friend’s discomfort he rushed into speech.  He tried to distract the girl’s attention; presently Jimmy recovered himself.

Mrs. Wyatt alone had not been conscious of any disturbing element.

She had lived all her life in the country, and her few visits to London had been exceedingly brief, and always conducted on the most severe of lines—­a dull, highly respectable hotel to stay in, stalls for plays against which no single newspaper had raised a dissentient voice, and perhaps a visit to a museum or picture gallery.

It had only been under protest that she had consented to visit the suburban theatre at which Cynthia Farrow was playing.

Under the guidance of Jimmy Challoner, London had suddenly been presented to her in an entirely fresh light.  Secretly she was thoroughly enjoying herself, though once or twice she looked at Christine with rather wistful eyes.

Christine was so wrapped up in Jimmy . . . and Jimmy!—­of course, he must know many, many other women far more attractive and beautiful than this little daughter of hers.  She half sighed as she caught the expression of Christine’s eyes as they rested on him.

Suddenly Jimmy rose.

“Will you excuse me a moment? . . .  There is a friend of mine over there. . . .  Please excuse me.”

Sangster scowled.  He thought Jimmy was behaving like a weak fool.  He would have stopped him had it been at all possible; but Jimmy had already left the table and crossed to where Cynthia was sitting.

The sight of her in Mortlake’s company for the second time that day had scattered his fine resolutions to the winds.  There was a raging fire of jealousy in his heart as he went up to her.

A waiter was filling her glass with champagne, Mortlake was whispering to her confidentially across the corner of the table.