Gladys laughed.

“Quarrelling!  Why ever should I quarrel with Mr. Kettering?  I’ve hardly spoken half a dozen words to him in all my life.”

“You seemed to have a great deal to say to him, all the same,” Christine protested, rather shortly.

They went back to the house together.

It was during dinner that night that Gladys deliberately led the conversation round to Jimmy again.

They had nearly finished the unpretentious little meal; it had passed almost silently.  Christine looked pale and preoccupied.  Gladys was worried and anxious.

A dozen times during the past few days she had tried to decide whether she ought to write to Jimmy or not.  Her sharp eyes had seen from the very first the way things were going with regard to Kettering, and she was afraid of the responsibility.  If anything happened—­if Christine chose to doubly wreck her life—­afterwards they might all blame her; she knew that.

She was fond of Christine, too.  And though she had never approved of Jimmy, she would have done a great deal to see them happy together.

It was for that reason that she now spoke of him.

“When are you going to London, Chris?”

Christine looked up; she flushed.

“Going to London!  I am not going. . . .  I never want to go there any more.”

Gladys made no comment; she had heard the little quiver in the younger girl’s voice.

Presently: 

“I suppose you think I ought to go to Jimmy,” Christine broke out vehemently.  “I suppose you are hinting that it is my duty to go.  You don’t know what you are talking about; you don’t understand that he cares nothing about me—­that he would be glad if I were dead and out of the way.  He only wants his freedom; he never really wished to marry me.”

“It isn’t as bad as that.  I am sure he——­”

“You don’t know anything about him.  You don’t know what I went through during those hateful weeks before—­before I came here.  I don’t care if I never see him again; he has never troubled about me.  It’s my turn now; I am going to show him that he isn’t the only man in the world.”

Gladys had never heard Christine talk like this before; she was frightened at the recklessness of her voice.  She broke in quickly: 

“I won’t listen if you’re going to say such things.  Jimmy is your husband, and you loved him once, no matter what you may do now.  You loved him very dearly once.”

Christine laughed.

“I’ve got over that.  He wasn’t worth breaking my heart about.  I was just a poor little fool in those days, who didn’t know that a man never cares for a woman if he is too sure of her.  Oh, if I could only have my time over again, I’d treat him so differently—­I’d never let him how how much I cared.”

Her voice had momentarily fallen back into its old wistfulness.  There were tears in her eyes, but she brushed them quickly away.