Jimmy; she seemed to love him all the more now that he was all that was
left to her. Jimmy realised it, too, and it worried him. He meant to
be good to her--he wanted to be good to her; but--involuntarily he
glanced towards the blank space on the mantelshelf where Cynthia
Farrow's portrait used to stand.

He had not seen her since that night when she had told him the truth;
when she had told him that she had thrown him over because he was not
rich enough, because she valued diamonds and beautiful clothes more
than she valued his love. He wondered if she knew of his engagement;
if she had been told about it, and if so--whether she minded.

So far nobody had seemed particularly pleased except the Great Horatio,
who had cabled that he was delighted, and that he was making immediate
arrangements to increase Jimmy's allowance.

Jimmy had smiled grimly over that part of the message; it was hard luck
that the Great Horatio should only shell out now, when--when--he pulled
up his thoughts sharply; he tried to remember that he was already
almost as good as a married man; he had no right to be thinking of
another woman; he was going to marry Christine.

The door opened; Costin reappeared.

"Please, sir--a lady to see you."

"What!"

Jimmy stared incredulously. "A lady to see me? Rot! It's some
mistake----"