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"Won't I be crowding you?..." he said. "Oh, no," she replied. "Jimphy doesn't want to see the play anyhow, and he'll be quite happy if he has some one to talk to in the bar between the acts!..." He felt the blood rushing violently to his head, and in his anger he almost got up and walked out of the box.
"You know why!" he said. Her hand dropped from his arm. "I don't know why," she exclaimed pettishly, and he saw and disliked the way her lips turned downwards as she said it. "I can't bear it, Cecily," he exclaimed. "I must have you to myself or ... or not have you at all!" "Perfectly absurd!" she murmured. "It isn't absurd. How can you expect me to feel happy when I see you going off with Jimphy?
I've just had a telegram, and I'm going back to-night!..." "I'm awf'lly sorry, Quinny!" Gilbert said, quickly sympathetic. "I met Jimphy at Charing Cross. He's in khaki. He took me back to tea. Cecily's making mittens!..." "She would," said Gilbert. "She told me to tell you to go and see her!" "Did she, indeed?" "You'll stay here, I suppose," Henry went on, "until you're called up?"
Neither Gilbert nor Jimphy answered her, but Henry felt that something ought to be said when she made a direct remark. "Isn't Fleet Street funny at this time of night?" she said. "So quiet. I do hope the supper will be fit to eat. Oh, Gilbert, I wish you'd say something in your notice of Wilde's play about his insincerity.
There were so many people about!" "Well, if you had noticed something hanging around, that would have been Jimphy. His real name is Jasper, but Cecily never calls any one by his real name ... except me. She can't think of a name for me!" They entered the auditorium and stood for a moment looking about the theatre.
The women were riotously dressed, and the colours of their garments mingled and merged like the colours of a sunset. There was a constant flow of people through the room, and the chatter of animated voices and bursts of laughter and the jingling, sentimental music played by the orchestra made Jimphy forget how bored he had been at the theatre.
The nervous, hectic state of the journalists made him feel nervous too. "I'd better get among less jumpy people," he said to himself, and he hurried towards Charing Cross. And there he met Jimphy. He did not recognise him at first, for Jimphy was in khaki, and he would have passed on without seeing him, had Jimphy not caught hold of his arm and stopped him.
"It isn't fair to keep Jimphy from his birthday treat any longer," he said, "and I may be some time before I'm ready!" She was sitting next to Gilbert, and Henry and Jimphy were together with their backs to the chauffeur. She did not appear to be tired nor had the sparkle of her beautiful eyes diminished.
Jimphy wanted to know why it was that he and Henry had not met again since the night that "Cecily let a chap in for a damn play," and reminded him of their engagement to visit the Empire together. "Anyhow," he said, "you can come and lunch with us. Cecily'll be glad to see you. I said I'd come home to lunch if I could find some one worth bringing with me, so that's all right!"
"Ay," she answered, "that was her name before she was married. He's trainin' now, an' in a while, I suppose, he'll be off like the rest of them. Och, ochanee, sir, isn't this a terr'ble world, wi' nothin' but fightin' an' wringlin'? Will that be all you're wantin', sir?" "Yes, thanks," he said. Poor old Jimphy! They had all been contemptuous of him ... and now!... Cecily would be free now!
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