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The little time she had spent with Sangster had been like the opening of a door in her poor little heart, letting in fresh air and common sense. After all, how could she hope to win Jimmy by tears and recriminations? She had heard the doctrine of "forgive and forget" preached so frequently; surely this was the moment in which to apply it to herself and him.
Jimmy groaned as he paced up and down, up and down. Sangster was pretending to read. He turned the pages of a magazine, but he saw nothing of what was written there. In his own way he was as unhappy as Jimmy, in his own way he was suffering tortures of doubt and apprehension.
Was he blind, that he could not penetrate her shallowness, and see the small selfishness of her nature? A pretty face and laugh, and an undoubted knowledge of men they were all the assets she possessed; and Sangster knew it. But to Jimmy Sangster metaphorically shrugged his shoulders as he looked at his friend's moody face.
Jimmy had felt strongly inclined to answer that most things were past his comprehension, but thought better of it; he could not, at any rate, imagine his life without Costin. He knew in his heart that he had no least intention of sacking Costin, and Costin stayed. "If you please, sir," he began now, coming forward, "Mr. Sangster would like to see you." "Show him up," said Jimmy.
"It's a nice friendly way to receive news. Why the devil don't you say something?" he asked again angrily. Sangster said something then; something which Jimmy had never expected. "You ought to be shot!" And then the silence fell once more. Jimmy kicked at the blazing coals furiously; he had got very red. "You ought to be shot!" said Sangster again.
"I am very glad you came; I" she bit her lip "I don't think Jimmy will be back to lunch," she said. "Capital!" Sangster tried to speak naturally; he laughed. "Then will you come out to lunch with me? Jimmy won't mind, and " "Oh, no, Jimmy won't mind." There was such bitterness in her voice that for a moment it shocked him into silence; she looked at him with burning eyes.
"Sly old dog," Jimmy growled to Sangster. "He means that he's having a thundering good time where he is." Sangster laughed. "Marseilles isn't much of a place. Perhaps he really is ill." Jimmy grunted something unintelligible. "I doubt it," he added. "And the devil of it is that Christine doesn't believe me.
Once or twice he made her laugh. He was very careful to keep always to impersonal subjects. He behaved just as if they were good friends out for an evening of enjoyment. When they left the theatre Christine looked brighter than he had seen her for weeks. Jimmy was profoundly grateful. He was delighted that Sangster should see her with that little flush in her cheeks.
Wyatt died; you've got a sort of way that I haven't. I I should be no end obliged. I'll I'll keep out of the way myself for a bit, and then " He looked anxiously at his friend. "Will you go?" "She probably won't see me if I do." "She will. She's sick of the sight of me." Sangster smiled in spite of himself. He got up, stretching his arms; he shook his head at Jimmy.
She was not here yet, at all events; one could only hope that she would not come at all. Everything was new and wonderful to Christine. She was like a child in her delight. She sat in a corner of one of the great, softly cushioned sofas, and looked about her with wide eyes. Jimmy sat beside her. Sangster had manoeuvred that he should. He and Mrs. Wyatt were opposite.
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