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Christine was huddled in one of the big chairs, her pretty head down-flung on an arm. Sangster stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder. Jimmy never looked at his friend, or he might have learned many, many things from the expression of his eyes just then as he moved back silently and let Jimmy pass. He fell on his knees beside Christine.
Sangster did not know how to answer; he sat staring down at the worn toes of his carpet slippers and thinking of Christine. She was such a child, and she loved Jimmy so much. It made his heart ache to think of the shy happiness he had always read in her eyes whenever she looked at Jimmy. "Of course, I shouldn't have told you, only I know you won't say a word," said Jimmy presently.
"Sick to death of you and your abominable selfishness. I oh, what's the good of talking ?" He was gone with a slam of the door. Jimmy dragged a chair forward and flung himself into it. His face was a study; now and then he gave a little choked exclamation of rage. What the deuce did Sangster mean by taking such an attitude? It was like his infernal cheek.
He shrugged his shoulders when Jimmy told him to mind his own business. He turned away. "Here's a telegram," he said suddenly. Jimmy turned. "For me?" "Yes your brother I expect." Jimmy snatched up the yellow envelope and tore it open. He read the message through: "Coming to London to-night. Meet me Waterloo eight-thirty." He laughed mirthlessly. "The Great Horatio?" Sangster asked. "Yes."
Why" he laughed suddenly "She's only a child." "Very well, you know your own business best, of course; and Jimmy " "Well?" ungraciously. Sangster hesitated; finally: "Did did Cynthia say anything to you to-night? anything special, I mean?" Jimmy laughed drearily. "She said it was cold, or something equally interesting.
"It's the place to see stage favourites," Sangster told her. In his heart he was surprised that Jimmy should choose to go there. He thought it extremely probable that Cynthia Farrow and some of her numerous admirers would put in an appearance; but it was not his business, and he raised no objection. When they entered the long room he cast a swift glance round.
There was a moment of tragic silence. "Dead!" said Sangster again. He could not believe it; his face was very pale. "Dead!" he said again. His thoughts flew to Jimmy Challoner. "Are you sure?" he asked urgently. "There's no mistake you're quite sure?" "Sure! Man alive, it's in all the papers!
William Dean Howells, General Grant, General Sherman, Phillips Brooks, General Sheridan, Canon Farrar, Cardinal Gibbons, Marion Harland, Margaret Sangster the most prominent men and women of the day, some of whom had never written for magazines began to appear in the young editor's contents. Each contributor had come gratuitously to the aid of the editor.
Sangster glanced at the breakfast-table. "I'm rather an early visitor, eh?" "No. Oh, no. Sit down. Have a cigarette?" "No, thanks." There was little silence. Jimmy eyed his friend with a sort of suspicion. Sangster had heard something. Sangster probably knew all there was to know. He shuffled his feet nervously.
"Well, here's to a brighter future," said Jimmy Challoner drearily; but he sighed heavily as he tossed off the brandy and soda. Sangster felt decidedly nervous when he reached the hotel where Jimmy and his wife were staying.
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