her. There was something still of the old boyish affection for her in
his hearty but nothing more. Remorse seized him.

"Don't cry," he begged again with an effort. "Would you like me to go
away? . . . Oh, don't cry, dear."

Christine dried her eyes.

"It's--it's only be-because I'm so h-happy," she said on the top of a
last sob. "Oh, J-Jimmy--I do love you."

The words sounded somehow infinitely pathetic. Jimmy bit his lip hard.
His arm fell from about her waist.

"I--I'm not half good enough for you," he stammered.

He really meant that. He felt himself a perfect rotter beside her
innocent whole-hearted surrender. Christine was looking at him with
tearful eyes, though her lips smiled tremulously.

"Oh, Jimmy--what will mother say?" she whiskered. "And--and Mr.
Sangster?"

Jimmy laughed outright then. She was such a child. Why on earth
should it matter what Sangster said?

Christine did not know why she had spoken of him at all; but his kind
face had seemed to float into her mind with the touch of Jimmy's lips.
She was glad she had liked him. He was Jimmy's friend; now he would be
her friend, too.