She was not alone; half a dozen theatrical people, most of whom Jimmy knew personally, were lounging about her luxuriously furnished boudoir.  They were all cheery people, whom Jimmy liked well enough as a general thing, but to-day their chatter bored him; he hardly knew how to contain himself for impatience.  He made up his mind that he would stay as long, and longer than they did—­that wild horses should not drag him away till he had spoken with Cynthia alone.

She was very kind to him.  It might have struck a disinterested observer that she was a little afraid of him—­a little anxious to propitiate him; but none of these things crossed Jimmy’s mind.

He adored her, and she knew it; he would do anything in the world for her, and she must know that too.  Why, then, should she be in the very least afraid of him?

He found himself talking to an elderly woman with dyed hair, who had once been a famous dancer.  She was pleasant enough company, but she had not yet realised that her youth was a thing of the past.  She ogled Jimmy as if she had been eighteen, and simpered and giggled like a girl.

She was the last of them all to leave.  It struck Jimmy that Cynthia had purposely asked her to stay, but he could not be sure.  Anyway, it did not matter to him.  He meant to stay there all night or until he had spoken with her alone.

As soon as the door had closed on the rustling skirts of the dancer’s juvenile frock, Jimmy rushed over to where Cynthia was sitting.

She was smoking a cigarette.  She threw it pettishly into the fire as he dropped on his knees beside her.

“Cynthia,” said Jimmy Challoner hoarsely, “aren’t you—­aren’t you just a little bit pleased to see me?” It was a very boyish appeal; Cynthia’s face softened before it.  She laid a hand for a moment on his shoulder.

“I am always pleased to see you, Jimmy; you know that.  I hope we shall always be friends, even though—­even though——­”

Jimmy caught her hand and covered it with kisses.

“Darling!”

She moved restlessly.

“Jimmy, you’re such a boy.”  There was a hint of impatience now in her voice.  “Aren’t you ever going to grow up?”

He rose to his feet and moved away from her, The momentary flash of happiness had fallen from him; he felt very old and miserable as he stood leaning his elbow on the mantelshelf staring down at the fire.  She no longer cared for him; something in her voice told him that as no actual words would have done.  She had not wanted him to come here to-day.  Even now she wished that he would go away and leave her.  He suddenly remembered what Sangster had said last night.  He turned abruptly, looking down at Cynthia.

She was sitting up now, looking before her with puckered brows.  One small foot tapped the floor impatiently.

Jimmy moved nearer to her.

“Do you know what they are saying in the clubs?” he demanded.