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That that other I wonder how it ever came about at all now, when I look back." Sangster followed him silently. "I shall give the d d place up," Jimmy said sullenly. "I can't afford to keep it on really; and if she won't come here " Sangster made no comment. Jimmy put his hat down on the table and went over to the sideboard for whisky and glasses. "Don't be a fool, Jimmy," said Sangster.
She stood staring before her with blank eyes, her pretty face had fallen again into sadness, her mouth dropped pathetically. She opened Sangster's letter and read it through once more. Was Jimmy really ill, and was Sangster afraid to tell her, she wondered? Or was this merely Sangster's way of trying to bring them together again?
Jimmy stifled an oath under his breath as he shut the door. Sangster was the last man he wished to see at the present moment. He kept his eyes averted as he came forward. "Hallo!" he said. "Been here long?" "All the evening. Thought you'd sure to be in. Costin said you'd be in to dinner, he thought." "I meant to . . . stayed with the Wyatts, though." Jimmy helped himself to a whiskey.
He sat with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. With the passing of his passionate rage, depression seemed to have gripped him. He was sullen and morose, he would not answer when Sangster spoke to him; when they left the restaurant he insisted on going back to Christine's hotel. He questioned the porter closely. Where had she gone? Had they driven away together or walked?
Jimmy had forgotten the whisky. He took up his hat. "Come on; I must tell Christine." He made for the door. "You'd better take the wire to show her," said Sangster. They went out into the street together. "It's too early to go to the Savoy," said Jimmy. He was walking very fast now.
In old times, that is, in the time of old Mr Grant, and old Mr Sangster, to be a "proper minister" was in their opinion to be a "dumb dog that could not bark," and such a one had ever been an object of compassion, not to say of contempt among them. But Mr Maxwell's sermons were worth reading, they said, and they waited. And so the first months were got safely over.
He was sure that Jimmy had merely got married out of pique, and that he had repented as quickly as one generally does repent in such cases. Sangster walked back to his rooms; he felt very depressed. He was fond of Jimmy though he did not approve of him; he racked his brains to know what to do for the best.
He was standing still now. He felt as if his limbs had lost all power of movement. His eyes were fixed on Sangster's averted face. After a moment Sangster hung up the receiver. He did not turn at once; when, at last, he moved, it was very slowly. He went across to Jimmy and laid a hand on his arm.
Remorse was gnawing hard at his heart, though he was trying to believe that it was entirely another emotion. He had not slept properly for nights; his head ached, and his nerves were jumpy. "I'll not go till she sends for me," he said again obstinately. Sangster made no comment. He did not see Jimmy again for some days, though he heard of him once or twice from a mutual acquaintance.
I had no option she thinks the worst of me, naturally. She thinks that I I cared for for Cynthia right up to the end. . . . I didn't." He stopped, choking. "She's dead don't let's talk about it," he added. Sangster had hardly touched his lunch; he sat smoking fast and furiously. "Six months is a long time," he said at last.
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