“I suppose he’ll stop your allowance if he knows?” she said at last, with an odd little mirthless laugh.

Jimmy flushed.

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” he said quickly.  “I don’t care a hang what he does; but—­but—­well, I would have liked him to think things were all right between us, anyway.”

He waited a moment.  “Of course, if you can’t,” he said then, jaggedly, “if you feel that you can’t I’ll tell him the truth.  It will be the only way out of it.”

A second honeymoon!  Christine’s own words seemed to ring in her ears mockingly.

She had never had a honeymoon at all yet.  That week in London had been only a nightmare of tears and disillusionment and heartbreak.  If it meant going through it all again——­

She got up suddenly and went to stand beside Jimmy.  She was quite close to him, but she did not touch him, though it would have seemed the most natural thing in all the world just at that moment to slip a hand through his arm or to lay her cheek to the rough serge of his coat.  She had been so proud of him, had loved him so much; and yet now she seemed to be looking at him and speaking to him across a yawning gulf which neither of them were able to bridge.

“Jimmy, if—­if I do—­if I come back to you—­just for a little while, so that—­so that your brother won’t ever know, you won’t—­you won’t try and keep me—­afterwards?  You won’t—­you won’t try and force me to stay with you, will you?”

“I give you my word of honour.  I don’t know how to thank you.  I—­I’m not half good enough for you.  I don’t deserve that you should ever give me a thought; I’m such an awful rotter,” said Jimmy Challoner, with a break in his voice.  He tried to take her hand, but she drew back.

“It’s only—­only friends we’re going to be,” she whispered.

He choked back a lump in his throat.

“Only friends, of course,” he echoed, trying to speak cheerily.  He knew what she meant; knew that he was not to remember that they were married, that they were just to behave like good pals—­for the complete deception of the Great Horatio.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” he said again.  “And—­and when will you—­when——­” he stammered.

“Oh, not yet,” she told him quickly.  “There is plenty of time.  Next week will do.  You can let me know when your brother arrives.  I’ll come then.  I’ll——­” Someone knocked at the door.  It was Gladys.  She looked apologetic.  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a telegram for Jimmy.  I thought it might be important.”  She handed him the yellow envelope.

Jimmy took it agitatedly.  His heart was thumping.  He was sure that he knew what were its contents.  He broke open the flap.  There was a little silence; then he handed the message to his wife.

“Horatio arrives in London to-morrow morning.  Wire just received.  Thought you ought to know at once.—­SANGSTER.”