love you so much . . . you belonged to me first."

"You sent me away; you lied to me and deceived me."

He felt that he must keep on reminding himself of it; that he dared not
for one instant allow himself to forget everything but how beautiful
she was, and how much he wanted her.

She fell back from him; she dropped into a chair, hiding her face, and
sobbing.

There was a touch of the theatrical in her attitude, but Jimmy was too
miserable to be critical. He only knew that she was miserable and on
his account, and that he loved her.

He broke out agitatedly:

"Don't, Cynthia--don't cry; you break my heart. . . Oh, for God's
sake, don't cry."

"You don't care how miserable I am," she sobbed. "You--you haven't got
a heart to break, if you can stand there like a stone and tell me that
it's too late. It's not too late; you're not married yet. Tell her
the truth; oh! if you love me tell her the truth, Jimmy."

Jimmy was looking at her, but for a moment he only saw the big
sitting-room at the hotel where Mrs. Wyatt had died, and the crushed
little figure of Christine herself, as he had knelt beside her and drew
her head to his shoulder.