hotel, and were walking away together, Jimmy burst out savagely:

"What the devil do you mean about Christine not liking Cynthia? . . .
It's a gross piece of impertinence to say such a thing."

"It's the truth, all the same," said Sangster imperturbably. "The two
girls are as different as chalk from cheese. Miss Wyatt would soon
dislike Cynthia--they live in different worlds."

"Fortunately for Cynthia perhaps," said Jimmy savagely. "For pure,
ghastly dullness, recommend me to what is called the 'best
society' . . . . Christine is only a child--she always will be as long
as she is tied to her mother's apron-strings. I like Mrs. Wyatt
awfully, but you must admit that we've had a distinctly dull evening."

There was a moment's silence.

"If you really think that," said Sangster quietly, "I should keep away
from them, and I should most certainly give up paying attention to Miss
Wyatt."

Jimmy Challoner stopped dead. He turned and stared at his friend.

"What the devil are you talking about?" he demanded. His face looked
furious in the yellow light of a street lamp they were passing. "I pay
attention to Christine! Why"--he laughed suddenly--"She's only a
child."

"Very well, you know your own business best, of course; and Jimmy----"