"Oh, Jimmy, look! Isn't that--isn't that Miss Farrow?"

Her voice was excited. She was looking eagerly across the grass to
where a woman and a man were walking together beneath the trees.

Jimmy's heart leapt to his throat; for a moment it seemed to stop
beating.

Yes, it was Cynthia right enough; Cynthia with no trace of the headache
with which she had excused herself to him only that morning; Cynthia
walking with--with Henson Mortlake.

Christine spoke again, breathlessly.

"Is it? Oh, is it Miss Farrow, Jimmy?"

"Yes," said Jimmy hoarsely.

Cynthia had turned now. She and the man at her side were walking back
towards Jimmy and Christine.

As they drew nearer Cynthia's eyes swept the eager face and slim figure
of the girl at Jimmy's side. There was the barest flicker of her lids
before she raised them and smiled and bowed.

Jimmy raised his hat. He was very pale; his mouth was set in unsmiling
lines.

"Oh, she is lovely!" said Christine eagerly. "I think she is even