Twice Jimmy tried to speak, but no words would come; he felt as if rough hands were at his throat, choking him, squeezing the life out of his body, Then suddenly he fell on his knees beside his wife.

“Christine—­for God’s sake——­” He tried to take her in his arms, but she moved away; shrank back from him as if in terror, hiding her face and moaning—­moaning.

“Christine . . .”  There was a sob in Jimmy Challoner’s voice now; he broke out stammeringly.  “Don’t believe it—­it’s all lies.  I’d give my soul to undo it—­if only you’d never seen it.  I swear to you on my word of honour that I’ll never see her again.  I’ll do any mortal thing, anything in the wide world, if only you’ll look at me—­if you’ll forgive me——­ Oh, for God’s sake, say you forgive me——­”

Her hands fell from her face; for a moment her eyes sought his.

“Then—­then it is true!” she said faintly.

“Yes.  I can’t tell you a lie about it—­it is true.  I did—­did love her.  I was—­engaged to her; but it’s all over.  I swear to you that it’s all over and done with.  I’ll never see her again—­I’ll be so good to you.”  She hardly seemed to hear.

“Then you never really loved me?” she asked after a moment.  “It wasn’t because—­because you loved me?”

“N-no.”  He got to his feet again; he strode up and down the room agitatedly.  He had spoken truly enough when he said that he would have given his soul to undo these last few moments.

Presently he came back to where she sat—­this poor little wife of his.

“Forgive me, dear,” he said, very humbly.  “I—­I ask your pardon on my knees—­and—­it isn’t too late; we’ve got all our lives before us.  We’ll go right away somewhere—­you and I—­out of London.  We’ll never come back.”

She echoed his words painfully.

“You and I?  I—­I can’t go anywhere—­ever—­with you—­now!”

He broke into anger.

“You’re talking utter nonsense; you must be mad.  You’ve married me—­you’re my wife.  You’ll have to come with me—­to do as I tell you.  I—­oh, confound it——!” He broke off, realising how dictatorial his voice had grown.  He paced away from her again, and again came back.

“Look at me, Christine.”  She raised her eyes obediently.  The hot blood rushed to Jimmy’s face.  He wondered if It were only his fancy, or if there were really scorn in their soft brownness.  He tried to speak, but broke off.  Christine rose to her feet; she passed the pink letter as if she had not seen it; she walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” asked Jimmy sharply.

She looked back at him.  “I don’t know.  I—­oh, please leave me alone,” she added piteously as he would have followed her.

He let her go then; he waited till the door had shut, then he snatched up Cynthia’s letter once again, and read it through.