“I’ll tell mother to-night,” Christine said when they went back to the hotel.  “And I’ll write to you, Jimmy; I’ll——­” she broke off.  The porter had come forward; he spoke to Jimmy in an undertone.

“May I speak to you a moment, sir?”

Christine moved away.

“If you will ask the young lady to wait, sir,” the man said again with a sort of agitation.

A little flame of apprehension swept across Jimmy’s face.  He spoke to Christine.

“Wait for me a moment—­just a moment.”  He turned again to the man.  “Well—­well, what is it?”

The man lowered his voice.

“The lady, sir—­Mrs. Wyatt; she was taken very ill an hour ago.  The doctor is with her now.  I was told to tell you as soon as you came in, so that you could warn the young lady, sir.”

Christine had come forward.

“Is anything the matter?” she asked.  She looked from Jimmy to the porter wonderingly.  Jimmy took her hand.

“Your mother isn’t very well, dear.”  The little word slipped out unconsciously.  “There is a doctor with her now. . . .  No, don’t be worried.  I dare say it’s nothing.  I’ll come up with you and see.”

Christine fled up the staircase.  She was already in her mother’s room when Jimmy overtook her.  Through the half-closed door he could see the doctor and a woman in nurse’s dress.  His heart began to race.  Supposing Mrs. Wyatt were really ill; supposing——­ The doctor came out to him as he stood on the landing.

“Are you—­are you a relative of Mrs. Wyatt’s?” he asked.

Jimmy hesitated.

“I—­I am engaged to Miss Wyatt,” he said.  “I hope—­I hope there is nothing serious the matter?”

The doctor glanced back over his shoulder.  Jimmy’s eyes instinctively turned in the same direction; he could see Christine on her knees beside the bed in the darkened room.

“Mrs. Wyatt is dying, I regret to say,” the doctor said; he spoke in a low voice, so that his words should not reach Christine.  “It’s only a question of hours at most.  I’ve done all I can, but nothing can save her.  It’s heart trouble, you know; she must have been suffering with it for years.”

Jimmy Challoner stood staring at him, white-faced—­stunned.

“Oh, my God!” he said at last.  He was terribly shocked; he could not believe it.  He looked again to where Christine knelt by the bed.

“Does she—­Christine—­who is to tell her?” he asked incoherently.

The doctor shook his head.

“I should suggest that you——­” he began.

Jimmy recoiled.  “I!  Oh, I couldn’t. . . .  I——­” He broke off helplessly.  He was thinking of the old days down at Upton House; the great kindness that had always been shown to him by Christine’s mother.  There was a choking feeling in his throat.

“I think you are the one to tell her,” said the doctor again, rather stiffly.