“Oh, leave ’em in the taxi,” he said awkwardly.  “I’ll tell the chap to come back for us in an hour.”

He surreptitiously stuffed the new gloves into a coat pocket; he tried to look as if there were nothing very unusual about any of them as he led the way in.

Christine hardly ate anything; she was shy and unhappy.  The kind efforts which Sangster made to make her feel at her ease added to her embarrassment.  She missed her mother more and more as the moments fled away; she was on the verge of a breakdown when at last the interminable meal was ended.

She had hardly touched the champagne with which Jimmy had insisted on filling her glass; there were two empty bottles on the table, and she wondered mechanically who had drunk it all.

Sangster bade her “good-bye” as they left the restaurant; he held her hand for a moment, and looked into her eyes.

“I hope you will be very happy; I am sure you will.”

Christine tried to thank him; she wished he were not going to leave them; she had not wanted him to come with them in the first place, but now she was conscious only of a desire to keep him there.  Her heart pounded in her throat as he turned away; she looked apprehensively at Jimmy—­her husband now.

He was looking very smart, she thought with a little thrill of pride; she was sure he was quite the best-looking man she had ever seen.  He was talking to Sangster, but she could not hear what either of them was saying.

“Be good to her, Jimmy . . . she’s such a child.”

That was what Sangster was saying; and Jimmy—­well, Jimmy flushed uncomfortably as he answered with a sort of bravado: 

“Don’t be a silly old ass!  Do you think I’m going to beat her?”

Then it was all over, and Christine and Jimmy were driving away together.

Jimmy looked at her with a nervous smile.

“Well—­we’re married,” he said eloquently.

“Yes.”  She raised her beautiful eyes to his face; her heart was throbbing happily.  Unconsciously she made a little movement towards him.

Jimmy put out his hand and let down the window with a run.

“Jove! isn’t it hot!” he said.

He was beginning to wonder if he had drunk too much champagne; he passed his silk handkerchief over his flushed face.

“I thought it was rather cold,” said Christine timidly.

He frowned.

“Does that mean that you want the window up?” He did not mean to speak sharply; but he was horribly nervous, and Sangster’s parting words had not improved matters at all.

Christine burst into tears; she was overstrung and excited; her nerves were all to pieces; she sobbed for a moment desolately.

Jimmy swore under his breath; he did not know what to do.  After a moment he touched her—­he pressed his silk handkerchief into her shaking hands.

“Don’t cry,” he said constrainedly.  “People will think I’ve been unkind to you . . . already!” he added with a nervous laugh.