“Jimmy!”

Challoner pulled up short.  He would have avoided them had it been at all possible.

Mortlake! she had gone with that brute, whilst he—­he answered Mrs. Wyatt mechanically.

“Thanks—­thanks very much.  I was going to walk, but if you will be so kind as to give me a lift.”

He really hardly knew what he was saying.  He took off his hat and passed a hand dazedly across his forehead before he climbed into the taxi and found himself sitting beside Christine.

He forced himself to try to make conversation.  “Well, and how did you enjoy the play?”

It was a ghastly effort to talk.  He wondered if they would notice how strange his manner was.

“Immensely,” Mrs. Wyatt told him.  “I’ve heard so much about Cynthia Farrow, but never seen her before.  She certainly is splendid.”

“She’s the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” said Christine.

Challoner shot her a grateful look.  Most women were cats and never had a word of praise for one of their own sex.  He felt slightly comforted.

“If you’ve nothing better to do, Jimmy,” said Mrs. Wyatt, “won’t you come back to the hotel and have some supper with us?  We are only up in town for a fortnight.  Do come if you can.”

Challoner said he would be delighted.  He was very young in some ways.  He had not the smallest intention of calling on Cynthia that night.  He wished savagely that she could know what he was doing; know that in spite of everything he was not breaking his heart for her.

She was with that brute Mortlake; well, he was not going to spend the next hour or two alone with only his thoughts for company.

He wondered where Cynthia had gone, and if she had known all along that Mortlake was calling for her.  He ground his teeth.

The two women were talking together.  They did not seem to notice his silence.  Christine’s voice reminded him a little of Cynthia’s; a sudden revulsion of feeling flooded his heart.

Poor darling! all this was not her fault.  No doubt she was just as miserable as he.  He longed to go to her.  He wished he had not accepted the Wyatts’ invitation.  He felt that it was heartless of him to have done so.  He would have excused himself even now if the taxi had not already started.

Mrs. Wyatt turned to him.  “I suppose you are very fond of theatres?”

“Yes—­no—­yes, I mean; I go to heaps.”  He wondered if his reply sounded very foolish and absent-minded.  He rushed on to cover it.  “I’ve seen this particular play a dozen times; it’s a great favourite of mine.  I—­I’m very keen on it.”

“I think it is lovely,” said Christine dreamily.

She was leaning back beside him in the corner.  He could only see her white-gloved hands clasped in the lap of her frock.

“You must let me take you to some,” he said.  He had a rotten feeling that if he stopped talking for a minute he would make a fool of himself.  “I often get passes for first nights and things,” he rambled on.