“You don’t mean that; you’re only saying it because—­because——­” She broke off with an impatient gesture.  “Oh!” she said exasperatedly, “what is the use of loving a person if you do not want them to be happy—­if you cannot sacrifice yourself a little for them.”

Kettering looked at her curiously.  He had never taken much notice of her before; he had thought her a very ordinary type; he was struck by the sudden energy and passion in her voice.

“She is not happy now, at all events,” he said grimly.

She turned away and fidgeted with the wheel of the car.

“She could not very well be more unhappy than she is now,” he said again bitterly.

“She would be more unhappy if she knew she had done something to be ashamed of—­something she had got to hide.”

He raised his eyes.

“Are you holding a brief for Challoner?” he asked.

She frowned a little.

“You know I am not; I never thought he was good enough for her.  Even years ago as a boy he was utterly selfish; but—­but Christine loved him then; she thought there was nobody in all the world like him; she adored him.”

He winced.  “And now?” he asked shortly.

She did not answer for a moment; she stood looking away from him.

“There was a letter this morning,” she said tonelessly.  “Jimmy is ill, and they asked her to go to him.”

“Well!”

“She would not go.  She told me she was going to Heston with you instead.”

The silence fell again.  Kettering’s eyes were shining; there was a sort of shamed triumph about his big person.

Gladys turned to him impatiently.

“Are you looking glad?  Oh, I think I should kill you if I saw you looking glad,” she said quickly.  “I only told you that so that you might see how much she is under your influence already; so that you can save her from herself. . . .  She’s so little and weak—­and now that she is unhappy, it’s just the time when she might do something she would be sorry for all her life—­when she might——­”

“What are you two talking about?” Christine demanded from the doorway.  She came down the steps and stood between them; she looked at Kettering.  “I thought you had gone,” she said, surprised.

“No; I—­Miss Leighton and I have been discussing the higher ethics,” he said dryly.  He held his hand to Gladys.  “Well, good-bye,” he said; there was a little emphasis on the last word.

She just touched his fingers.

“Good-bye.”  She put her arm round Christine; there was something defensive in her whole attitude.

Kettering got into the car; he did not look at Christine again.  He started the engine; presently he was driving slowly away.

“Have you two been quarreling?” Christine asked.  There was a touch of vexation in her voice; her eyes were straining through the darkness towards the gate.