Jimmy never looked at his friend, or he might have learned many, many things from the expression of his eyes just then as he moved back silently and let Jimmy pass.

He fell on his knees beside Christine.  For the moment, at least, everything else in the world was forgotten between them; she was just a motherless, broken girl sobbing her heart out—­just the girl he had once loved with all a boy’s first ardour.  He put his arms round her and drew her head down, so that it rested on his shoulder, and her face was hidden in his coat.

“Don’t cry, my poor little girl,” said Jimmy Challoner, with a break in his own young voice.  “Oh, Christine, don’t cry.”

Sangster, watching, saw the way her arms crept upwards till they were clasped round Jimmy’s neck; saw the way she clung to him; heard the anguish in her voice as she said: 

“I’ve got no one now, Jimmy; no one at all.”

Jimmy looked up, and, across her bowed head, his eyes met those of his friend with a sort of defiance in them.

“You’ve got me, Christine,” he said with a new sort of humbleness.

CHAPTER X

JIMMY HAS A VISITOR

“I’m going to be married, Costin,” said Jimmy Challoner.

He was deep in an arm-chair, with his legs stuck up on the seat of another, and he was blowing rather agitated puffs of smoke into the room from an expensive cigar, for which he had not paid.

Costin was mixing a whisky-and-soda at the table, and just for an instant the syphon jerked, sending a stream of soda-water over the cloth.

“Yes, sir; certainly, sir; to—­to Miss Farrow, I presoom, sir.”

There was a momentary silence, then: 

“No, you fathead,” said Jimmy Challoner curtly.  “To Miss Wyatt—­a Miss Christine Wyatt; and I’m going to be married the day after to-morrow.”

“Yes, sir; I’m sure I wish you every happiness, sir.  And if I may ask, sir—­will you still be requiring my services?”

Jimmy stared.

“Of course I shall,” he said blankly.  “Who the police do you think is going to look after my clothes, and shave me?” He brought his feet down from the opposite chair and sat up.  “I’m going to be married in London—­quietly,” he said; he did not look at Costin now.  “Miss Wyatt has lost her mother recently—­I dare say you know.  I—­er—­I think that is all,” he added, with a sort of embarrassment, as he recalled the times, the many times, he had made a confidant of Costin in the days before he was engaged to Cynthia; the many little gifts that Costin had conveyed to her; the notes he had brought back.  Jimmy stifled a sigh in his broad chest; he rose to his feet.

“And, Costin——­”

“Yes, sir.”

“There is no need to—­to mention—­Miss Farrow—­if—­you understand?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“Very well; get out,” said Jimmy.