She wondered what Christine was doing; she hovered round the door, sympathetic and longing to be able to help, and not knowing how.

Christine had taken up the paper.  She did not know how to pass the evening; the minutes seemed to be dragging past with deliberate slowness.

She looked at the clock—­only eight!  She waited some time, then looked again.  Five past.  Why, surely the clock must have stopped; surely it must be half an hour since she had last glanced at its expressionless face.

She sighed wearily.

She had never felt so acutely alone and deserted in all her life; she had hardly been separated for a single day from her mother till death stepped in between them.  Mrs. Wyatt’s constant presence had kept Christine young; had made her more of a child than she would have been had she had to look after herself.  She felt her position now the more acutely in consequence.

“Serious accident to Miss Cynthia Farrow.”  Her eyes caught the headline of the paragraph as she idly turned the page; she gave a little start.  Her hands clutched the paper convulsively.

She read the few lines eagerly: 

“Miss Cynthia Farrow, the well-known actress, was the victim of a serious motor-car accident this afternoon.  Returning from the theatre, the car in which Miss Farrow was riding came into collision with a car owned by Mr. C. E. Hoskins, the well-known airman.  Miss Farrow was unfortunately thrown out, and is suffering from concussion and severe bruises.  Miss Farrow has been appearing at the ——­ Theatre as . . . .”

Christine read no more.  She did not care for the details of Cynthia Farrow’s life; all she cared was that this paragraph settled for once and all her doubt about Jimmy.  Of course, Jimmy could not be with her if she were ill and unconscious.  She felt bitterly ashamed of her suspicion; her spirits went up like rockets; she threw the paper aside.  The terrible load of care seemed lifted for a moment from her shoulders; she was asking Jimmy’s pardon on her heart’s knees for having ever dreamed that he would do such a thing after all his promises to her.

She opened the door and looked into the corridor.  Downstairs she could hear a band playing in the lounge; it sounded inviting and cheery.  She went down the stairs and found a seat in a palm-screened corner.

Jimmy had begged her to mix more with other people, and not stay in her room so much.  If he came in now he would be pleased to see that she had done as he asked her, she thought with a little thrill.

She could look ahead now, and make plans for their future.  She would consent to leaving London at once, and going somewhere where Cynthia Farrow’s influence had never made itself felt.  She would start all over again; she would be so tactful, so patient.  She would win him over to her; make him love her more than he had ever loved Cynthia.