“Jimmy.”  She whispered his name with a sort of fear.  “Jimmy—­what—­what is it?  Oh, you are frightening me.  I thought you would be so glad—­so glad.”  She caught the limp hand hanging against his side; she laid her soft cheek to it.

Jimmy Challoner tore himself free with a sort of rage.

“It’s too late—­too late,” he said hoarsely.

“Too—­late!” She stared at him, not understanding.  “What—­what do you mean?  That—­that you can’t forgive me; that—­that you’re so angry that—­that——­”

He swung round, white-faced and quivering.

“It’s too late,” he said again hopelessly.  “I’m engaged to be married.  I—­oh, why did you ever send me away?” he broke out in anguish.

Her face had paled, but she was still far enough from understanding.

“Engaged to be married—­you!  To whom, Jimmy?”

He answered her in a voice of stifled rage.

“It’s your doing—­all your fault.  You nearly drove me mad when you sent me away, and I—­I——­” There was a long pause.  “I told you that I met some friends in the theatre that night when you . . . well, I’m engaged to her—­to Christine.  I’ve known her all my life.  I—­I was utterly wretched . . .  I asked her to marry me.  We’re—­we’re going to be married the day after to-morrow.”

Twice she tried to speak, but no words would come.  She was as white now as the lilies she wore; her eyes had a stunned, incredulous look in them.  She had never even remotely dreamed of this; it was like some crude nightmare. . . .  Jimmy engaged!  Jimmy who had sworn a thousand times never to love another woman; Jimmy who had been heart-broken when she sent him away.  She broke out in vehement protest: 

“Oh, no—­no!”

“It’s true,” said Jimmy obstinately.  “It’s true.”

For the moment he was hardly conscious of any feeling except a sort of shock.  It had never once crossed his mind that she would come back to him; he could not believe even now that she was in earnest; he found himself remembering that night in her dressing-room at the theatre when she had lied to him, and pretended, and deceived him.  Perhaps even this was all part of the play-acting; perhaps she was just trying to win him back again, to make a fool of him afresh.

Cynthia broke out again.

“Well, this girl must be told; she can’t care for you.  You say you haven’t seen her for years.  It’s—­it’s absurd!” She took a step towards him.  “You must tell her, Jimmy; you must explain to her.  She . . . surely there is such a thing as buying her off.”

The vulgarity of the expression made him wince; he thought of Christine with a sort of shame.

She would be the last girl in the world, he knew, to wish to hold him to a promise which he was unwilling to fulfil; he thought of her pale face and wistful brown eyes, and he broke out strenuously: 

“It’s impossible . . . it’s too late . . . we are to be married on Thursday; everything is fixed up.  I—­oh, for God’s sake, Cynthia, don’t go on talking about it.  You drove me to do what I have done.  It’s too late—­I can’t go back on my word.”