Jimmy Challoner went forward with outstretched hand.

"I hope you don't mind my coming again so soon; but I was bored--thoroughly fed-up," he explained stumblingly.

Christine looked radiant. She had not yet learned to disguise her true feelings. Jimmy was still holding her hand; she tried gently to free it.

"Don't--don't take it away," said Jimmy. The double dose of brandy and his own agitation had excited him; he drew her over to the fire with him; he hardly knew what he was doing.

Suddenly: "Will you marry me, Christine?" he said.

There was a sharp silence.

Christine's little face had grown as white as death; her soft brown eyes were almost tragic.

"Marry you!" She echoed his words in a whisper. "Marry you," she said again. "Oh, Jimmy!" She caught her breath in something like a sob.

"But--but you don't love me," she said in a pitiful whisper.

Jimmy lost his head.

"I do love you," he declared. "I love you most awfully . . . Say yes, Christine--say yes. We'll be ever so happy, you and I; we always got on rippingly, didn't we?"

n.o.body had ever made love to Christine before, since the days when Jimmy Challoner had chased her round the garden for kisses, and she had always loved him. She felt giddy with happiness. This was a moment she had longed for ever since that night in the suburban theatre when she had looked up into the stage box and seen him sitting there.

Jimmy had got his arm round her now; he put his hot cheek to her soft hair.

"Say yes, Christine," he whispered; but he did not wait for her to say it. He could be very masterful when he chose, and with sudden impulsive impatience he bent and kissed her.

Christine burst into tears.

He had swept her off her feet. A moment since she had never dreamed of anything like this; and now--now her head was on Jimmy Challoner's shoulder, and his arm round her.

"Don't cry," he said huskily. "Don't cry--I didn't mean to be a brute.

Did I frighten you?"

He was already beginning to realise what he had done. A little cold shiver crept down his spine.

He had kissed this girl and asked her to marry him; but he did not love her. There was something still of the old boyish affection for her in his hearty but nothing more. Remorse seized him.

"Don't cry," he begged again with an effort. "Would you like me to go away? . . . Oh, don't cry, dear."

Christine dried her eyes.

"It's--it's only be-because I'm so h-happy," she said on the top of a last sob. "Oh, J-Jimmy--I do love you."

The words sounded somehow infinitely pathetic. Jimmy bit his lip hard.

His arm fell from about her waist.

"I--I'm not half good enough for you," he stammered.

He really meant that. He felt himself a perfect rotter beside her innocent whole-hearted surrender. Christine was looking at him with tearful eyes, though her lips smiled tremulously.

"Oh, Jimmy--what will mother say?" she whiskered. "And--and Mr.

Sangster?"

Jimmy laughed outright then. She was such a child. Why on earth should it matter what Sangster said?

Christine did not know why she had spoken of him at all; but his kind face had seemed to float into her mind with the touch of Jimmy's lips.

She was glad she had liked him. He was Jimmy's friend; now he would be her friend, too.

There was an awkward silence. Jimmy made no attempt to kiss her again--he did not even touch her.

He was thinking of the night when he had asked Cynthia to marry him.

It had been in a taxi--coming home from the theatre. In imagination he could still smell the scent of the lilies she wore in her fur coat--still feel the touch of her hair against his cheek.

That had been all rapture; this--he looked at Christine remorsefully.

Poor child, she missed nothing in this strange proposal. Her eyes were like stars. As she met Jimmy's gaze she moved shyly across to him and raised her face.

"Kiss me, Jimmy," she said.

Jimmy kissed her very softly on the cheek. She put her hands up to his broad shoulders.

"And--and you do--really--love me?" she asked wistfully.

Jimmy could not meet her eyes, but--

"Of course I do," he said.

It was late when Jimmy got back to his rooms that night. Mrs. Wyatt had insisted on him staying to dinner. There was no doubt that she was delighted at the turn affairs had taken, though she had said that it was soon--very soon. They must be engaged a few months at least, to make sure--quite sure.

She kissed Jimmy--she kissed Christine; she said she was very happy.

Jimmy felt a cad. He was thankful when the evening was ended. He drew a great breath of relief when he walked away from the hotel.

He was an engaged man--and engaged to Christine. He felt as if someone had snapped handcuffs on his wrists.

Being Christine's fiance would mean a very different thing from being engaged to Cynthia.

The two girls lived very different lives, had been brought up very differently.

Jimmy had liked the free and easy Bohemianism of the set in which Cynthia moved; he was not so sure about Christine's.

He was utterly wretched as he walked home. He had tied himself for life; there would be no slipping out of this engagement.

Poor little Christine! she deserved a better man. He felt acutely conscious of his own unworthiness.

He walked the whole way home. He was dog tired when he let himself into his rooms. Sangster rose from a chair by the fire.

Jimmy stifled an oath under his breath as he shut the door.