He was coming out of the little post office as she was going in, and he pulled up short with a muttered apology before he recognised her; then—­well, then they both got red, and a little flame crept into Kettering’s eyes.

“I thought I was never going to see you any more,” Christine said rather nervously.  “Are you angry with me?”

“Angry!” He laughed a little.  “Why ever should I be angry with you? . . .  I—­the fact is, I’ve been in London on business.”

“Oh!” She looked rather sceptical; she raised her chin a dignified inch.  “You ought to have told me,” she said, unthinkingly.

He looked at her quickly and away again.

“I missed you,” said Christine naively.

“That is very kind of you.”  There was a little silence.  “May I—­may I walk a little way with you?” he asked diffidently.

“If you care to.”

He checked a smile.  “I shall be delighted,” he said gravely.

They set out together.

Christine felt wonderfully light-hearted all at once; her eyes sparkled, her cheeks were flushed.  Kettering hardly looked at her at all.  It made him afraid because he was so glad to be with her once more; he knew now how right Gladys had been when she asked him not to come to Upton House again.  He rushed into conversation; he told her that the weather had been awful in London, and that he had been hopelessly bored.  “I know so few people there,” he said.  “And I kept wondering what you were——­” He broke off, biting his lip.

“What I was doing?” Christine finished it for him quickly.  “Well, I was sitting at the window most of the time, wondering why you didn’t come and see me,” she said with a laugh.

“Were you——­”

She frowned a little; she looked up at him with impatient eyes.

“What is the matter?  I know something is the matter; I can feel that there is.  You are angry with me; you——­”

“My dear child, I assure you I am not.  There is nothing the matter except, perhaps I am a little—­worried and—­and unhappy.”

He laughed to cover his sudden gravity.  “Tell me about yourself and—­and Jimmy.  How is Challoner?”

He had never spoken to her of Jimmy before; his name had been tacitly unmentioned between them.  Christine flushed; she shrugged her shoulders.  “I don’t know; he wasn’t very well last week, but I dare say he is all right again now.”  Her voice was very flippant.  In spite of himself Kettering was shocked; he hated to hear her speak like that; he had always thought her so sweet and unaffected.

“He ought to come down here for a change,” he said in his most matter-of-fact tones.  “Why don’t you insist that he comes down here for a change?  Country air is a fine doctor; he would enjoy it.”

“I don’t think he would; he hates the country.”  She spoke without looking at him.  “I am sure that he is having a much better time in London than he would have here——­” She broke off.  “Mr. Kettering, will you come back and have tea with me?”