He wondered how long Kettering meant to stay.  He felt very much inclined to give him a hint that his room would be preferable to his company; but, after all, he himself was in such a weak position.  He had come to see Christine unasked.  It was her house, and in her present mood it was quite probable that she might order him out of it if he should make any attempt to assert his authority.

She spoke to him suddenly; her beautiful brown eyes met his own unfalteringly, with a curious antagonism in them.

“Shall you—­shall you be staying to dinner, or have you to catch the early train back to London?”

He might have been the veriest stranger.  Jimmy flushed scarlet.  Kettering turned away and plunged haphazard into conversation with Gladys Leighton.

Jimmy’s voice trembled with rage as he forced himself to answer.

“I should like to stay to dinner—­if I may.”

He had never thought it possible that she could so treat him, never believed that she could be so utterly indifferent.  Christine laughed carelessly.

“Oh, do stay, by all means.  Perhaps Mr. Kettering will stay as well?”

Kettering turned.  He could not meet her eyes.

“I am sorry.  I should like to have stayed; but—­but I have another engagement.  I am very sorry.”

The words were lame enough; nobody believed their excuse.  Kettering rose to take his leave.  He shook hands with Gladys and Jimmy.  He turned to Christine.

“I will come and see you off,” she said.

She followed him into the hall, deliberately closing the door of the drawing-room behind her.

“We must have our little tea another day,” she said recklessly.  She did not look at him.  “It was too bad being interrupted like that.”

She hardly knew what she was saying.  Her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes were feverish.  Kettering stifled a sigh.

“Perhaps it is as well that we were interrupted,” he said very gently.  He took her hand and looked down into her eyes.

“You’re so young,” he said, “such a child still.  Don’t spoil all your life, my dear.”

She raised defiant eyes.

“My life was spoilt on my wedding day,” she said in a hard voice.  “I——­ Oh, don’t let us talk about it.”

But he did not let her hand go.

“It’s not too late to go back and begin again,” he said with an effort.  “I know it—­it must seem presumptuous for me to talk to you like this, but—­but I would give a great deal to be sure that you were happy.”

“Thank you.”  There was a little quiver in her voice, but she checked it instantly.  She dragged her hand free and walked to the door.

It was quite dark now; she was glad that he could not see the tears in her eyes.

“When shall I see you again?” she asked presently.

He did not answer at once, and she repeated her question:  “When shall I see you again?  I don’t want you to stay away so long again.”