passed a hand dazedly across his forehead before he climbed into the
taxi and found himself sitting beside Christine.

He forced himself to try to make conversation. "Well, and how did you
enjoy the play?"

It was a ghastly effort to talk. He wondered if they would notice how
strange his manner was.

"Immensely," Mrs. Wyatt told him. "I've heard so much about Cynthia
Farrow, but never seen her before. She certainly is splendid."

"She's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," said Christine.

Challoner shot her a grateful look. Most women were cats and never had
a word of praise for one of their own sex. He felt slightly comforted.

"If you've nothing better to do, Jimmy," said Mrs. Wyatt, "won't you
come back to the hotel and have some supper with us? We are only up in
town for a fortnight. Do come if you can."

Challoner said he would be delighted. He was very young in some ways.
He had not the smallest intention of calling on Cynthia that night. He
wished savagely that she could know what he was doing; know that in
spite of everything he was not breaking his heart for her.

She was with that brute Mortlake; well, he was not going to spend the
next hour or two alone with only his thoughts for company.

He wondered where Cynthia had gone, and if she had known all along that