Kettering glanced down at Christine.  Her little face was very sad; she was looking at the big rocking-horse, and there were tears in her eyes.

She and Jimmy had so often ridden its impossible back together; this deserted room was full of Jimmy and her mother—­to her sad heart it was peopled with ghost faces, and whispering voices that would never come any more.

Kettering turned away.

“Shall we see the rest of the house?” he asked.  He hated that look of sadness in her face; he was surprised because he felt such a longing to comfort her.

But they had no time to see the rest of the house, for at that moment someone called, “Christine—­Christine,” from the hall below, and Christine clasped her hands delightedly.

“That is Gladys.  Oh, I am so glad—­so glad.”

She forgot all about Kettering; she ran away from him, and down the stairs in childish delight.  He followed slowly.  He reached the hall just in time to see her fling herself into the arms of a tall girl standing there; just in time to hear smothered ejaculations.

“You poor darling!” and “Oh, Gladys!” and the sound of many kisses.

He stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do.  Over Christine’s head, his eyes met those of the elder girl.  She smiled.

“Christine . . . you didn’t tell me you had visitors.”

Christine looked up, all smiles now and apologies, as she said: 

“Oh, I am so sorry—­I forgot.”  She introduced them.  “Mr. Kettering—­Miss Leighton. . . .  Mr. Kettering has been looking over the house; I hope he will buy it,” she added childishly.

“It’s a shame it has got to be sold,” said Gladys bluntly.  There was something very taking about her, in spite of red hair and an indifferent complexion; she had honest blue eyes and a pleasant voice.  She looked at Kettering a great deal as she spoke; perhaps she noticed how often his eyes rested on Christine.  When presently they went out into the garden, she walked between them; she kept an arm about Christine’s little figure.

“I missed the train,” she explained.  “I got your husband’s wire, Christine.  Oh, yes, I got it all right, and I rushed to pack the very minute; but the cab was slow, and I just missed the train.  However, I’m here all right.”

She looked at Kettering.

“Do you live near here?” she asked him.

“No; but I am hoping to soon,” he said; and again she wondered if it were only her imagination that his eyes turned once more to Christine.

When they got back to the house he bade them “good-bye.”  The big car was still waiting in the drive; its headlights were lit now, and they shone through the darkness like watchful eyes.

“Who is he, anyway?” Gladys asked Christine bluntly, when Kettering had driven off.  Christine shook her head.

“I don’t know; he came down in the train with me, and we had lunch at the same table, and he spoke.  He was coming down here to look at our house, and so—­well, we came up together.”