“Fortunately for Cynthia perhaps,” said Jimmy savagely.  “For pure, ghastly dullness, recommend me to what is called the ’best society’ . . . .  Christine is only a child—­she always will be as long as she is tied to her mother’s apron-strings.  I like Mrs. Wyatt awfully, but you must admit that we’ve had a distinctly dull evening.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“If you really think that,” said Sangster quietly, “I should keep away from them, and I should most certainly give up paying attention to Miss Wyatt.”

Jimmy Challoner stopped dead.  He turned and stared at his friend.

“What the devil are you talking about?” he demanded.  His face looked furious in the yellow light of a street lamp they were passing.  “I pay attention to Christine!  Why”—­he laughed suddenly—­“She’s only a child.”

“Very well, you know your own business best, of course; and Jimmy——­”

“Well?”—­ungraciously.

Sangster hesitated; finally: 

“Did—­did Cynthia say anything to you to-night?—­anything special, I mean?”

Jimmy laughed drearily.

“She said it was cold, or something equally interesting.  She also said that I might call upon her any afternoon, and that she was always pleased to see her ‘friends.’” He accented the last word bitterly.  “What did you expect her to say to me?” he inquired.

“Nothing; at least . . . you know what they are saying in the clubs?”

“What are they saying?”

“That she is engaged to Mortlake.”

Through the darkness he heard Jimmy catch his breath hard in his throat.

“Of course, that may be only club talk,” he hastened to add kindly.

“I never thought it could be anything else,” said Jimmy with a rush.  “I know it’s a lie, anyway.  How can she be engaged to Mortlake, or any other man—­if her husband is living?”

“No,” Sangster agreed quietly.  “She certainly cannot be engaged to any other man if her husband is still living.”

There was an underlying meaning in his voice.  Jimmy swung round savagely.

“What are you trying to get at?” he asked.  “If you know anything, tell me and have done with it.”

“I don’t know anything; I am only repeating what I have heard.”

“A pack of gossiping old women”—­savagely.

They walked a few steps silently.

“Why not forget her, Jimmy?” said Sangster presently.  “She isn’t the only woman in the world.  Put her out of your life once and for all.”

“It’s all very fine for you to talk . . . things are not forgotten so quickly.  She’s done with me—­I told you so—­and . . . oh, why the devil can’t you mind your own business?”

CHAPTER VII

LOVE AND POVERTY

But in spite of his fine sounding words, Jimmy had not done with her, and the next afternoon—­having shaken off Sangster, who looked in to suggest a stroll—­he went round to Cynthia Farrow’s flat.