He turned away from the window and the dazzling rows of diamond rings and walked on.  He remembered that he had not answered his brother’s letter; on the spur of the moment he turned into the nearest post office and sent a cable: 

Letter received.  Am engaged to Christine Wyatt, of Upton House.  You remember her.—­JAMES.

He never signed himself “Jimmy” when he was writing to the Great Horatio.  The cable, together with his brother’s address, cost him fifteen shillings; he grudged the expense, but he supposed it had to be sent.

He wandered on again up the street.

He had some lunch by himself, and went back to the Wyatts’ hotel.  Christine came running down the stairs to meet him; her eyes were dancing, her face flushed.

“Oh, Jimmy!” she said.  She looked as if she expected him to kiss her, he thought; after a moment he lightly touched her cheek with his lips.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to lunch,” he said stiltedly.  “I—­er—­I had an engagement.  If you care to come out——­”

He knew he must sound horribly casual and indifferent; he tried in vain to infuse some enthusiasm into his voice, but failed.

Christine seemed to notice nothing amiss; she assented eagerly when he suggested they should go and look at the shops.

“You—­er you must have a ring, you know,” he said.

His heart smote him when he saw the way her lips trembled.  He took her hand remorsefully.

“I mean to make you very happy,” he said.  He dropped her hand again and moved away.

In his mind he kept comparing this with the first days of his engagement to Cynthia.  He had not been tongue-tied and foolish then; he had not needed to be reminded that it was usual to kiss a girl when you were engaged to her; he—­oh, confound it!

Christine had gone for her hat and coat.

“Mother is not at all well,” she said anxiously when she came back.  “Do you know, Jimmy, I have thought sometimes lately that she really isn’t so well and strong as she tries to make me believe.”

Jimmy was not impressed; he said that he thought Mrs. Wyatt looked A1; not a day older than when she had mothered him down at Upton House all those years ago.  Christine was pleased; she adored her mother; she was quite happy as they left the hotel together.

“You choose what you like,” he told her when they were in the jeweller’s shop.  The man behind the counter thought him the most casual lover he had ever yet served.  He looked at Christine with a sort of pity; she was so eager and happy.  He brought another tray of diamond rings.

Christine appealed to Jimmy Challoner.

“I would much rather you chose one for me.  Which one would you like best?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t mind—­anything you like; you’ve got to wear it.”  He saw a little swift look of amazement in her eyes; he roused himself.