There was an awkward silence.  Jimmy made no attempt to kiss her again—­he did not even touch her.

He was thinking of the night when he had asked Cynthia to marry him.  It had been in a taxi—­coming home from the theatre.  In imagination he could still smell the scent of the lilies she wore in her fur coat—­still feel the touch of her hair against his cheek.

That had been all rapture; this—­he looked at Christine remorsefully.  Poor child, she missed nothing in this strange proposal.  Her eyes were like stars.  As she met Jimmy’s gaze she moved shyly across to him and raised her face.

“Kiss me, Jimmy,” she said.

Jimmy kissed her very softly on the cheek.  She put her hands up to his broad shoulders.

“And—­and you do—­really—­love me?” she asked wistfully.

Jimmy could not meet her eyes, but—­

“Of course I do,” he said.

* * * * * *

It was late when Jimmy got back to his rooms that night.  Mrs. Wyatt had insisted on him staying to dinner.  There was no doubt that she was delighted at the turn affairs had taken, though she had said that it was soon—­very soon.  They must be engaged a few months at least, to make sure—­quite sure.

She kissed Jimmy—­she kissed Christine; she said she was very happy.

Jimmy felt a cad.  He was thankful when the evening was ended.  He drew a great breath of relief when he walked away from the hotel.

He was an engaged man—­and engaged to Christine.  He felt as if someone had snapped handcuffs on his wrists.

Being Christine’s fiance would mean a very different thing from being engaged to Cynthia.

The two girls lived very different lives, had been brought up very differently.

Jimmy had liked the free and easy Bohemianism of the set in which Cynthia moved; he was not so sure about Christine’s.

He was utterly wretched as he walked home.  He had tied himself for life; there would be no slipping out of this engagement.

Poor little Christine! she deserved a better man.  He felt acutely conscious of his own unworthiness.

He walked the whole way home.  He was dog tired when he let himself into his rooms.  Sangster rose from a chair by the fire.

Jimmy stifled an oath under his breath as he shut the door.

Sangster was the last man he wished to see at the present moment.  He kept his eyes averted as he came forward.

“Hallo!” he said.  “Been here long?”

“All the evening.  Thought you’d sure to be in.  Costin said you’d be in to dinner, he thought.”

“I meant to . . . stayed with the Wyatts, though.”

Jimmy helped himself to a whiskey.  He knew that Sangster was watching him.  His gaze got unbearable.  He swung round with sharp impatience.  “What the devil are you staring at?” he demanded irritably.