He turned impulsively. Christine was huddled in one of the big chairs,
her pretty head down-flung on an arm. Sangster stood beside her, his
hand on her shoulder.

Jimmy never looked at his friend, or he might have learned many, many
things from the expression of his eyes just then as he moved back
silently and let Jimmy pass.

He fell on his knees beside Christine. For the moment, at least,
everything else in the world was forgotten between them; she was just a
motherless, broken girl sobbing her heart out--just the girl he had
once loved with all a boy's first ardour. He put his arms round her
and drew her head down, so that it rested on his shoulder, and her face
was hidden in his coat.

"Don't cry, my poor little girl," said Jimmy Challoner, with a break in
his own young voice. "Oh, Christine, don't cry."

Sangster, watching, saw the way her arms crept upwards till they were
clasped round Jimmy's neck; saw the way she clung to him; heard the
anguish in her voice as she said:

"I've got no one now, Jimmy; no one at all."

Jimmy looked up, and, across her bowed head, his eyes met those of his
friend with a sort of defiance in them.

"You've got me, Christine," he said with a new sort of humbleness.