were rather pleased to find Challoner still a bachelor.

"I don't know why he should be married," Christine said. "He's not
very old--only twenty-seven, mother."

"Is that all? Yes, I suppose he is--the time goes so quickly."

Challoner, meanwhile, had raced off to the back of the stage. He could
not imagine how on earth he had even for one second forgotten his
appointment. He was flushed with remorse and eagerness when he reached
Cynthia's room.

A dresser was retouching her hair. Challoner waited impatiently till
Cynthia sent her away. It occurred to him that she was deliberately
detaining her. He bit his lip.

But at last she was dismissed, and the door had hardly closed before he
stepped forward.

"Darling!" his eager arms were round her. "Are you angry with me? Did
you think I had forgotten? I met some old friends--at least, they
spotted me from the stalls and sent a note, and, of course, I had to go
and speak to them."

She was standing rather stiffly within the circle of his arms.

"You're not wild with me?" he asked in a whisper. "I'm so sorry. If
you knew how badly I wanted to see you."

He kissed her lips.

She was singularly unresponsive, though for a moment she let her head
rest against his shoulder. Then she raised it and moved away.

"Jimmy, I want to talk to you. No, stay there," as he made a little
eager movement to follow. "Stay there; I can't talk to you if you
won't be sensible."

"I am sensible." Challoner dragged up a chair and sat straddled across
it, his arms on the back, looking at her with ardent eyes. She kept
her own averted. She seemed to find it hard to begin what it was she
wanted to say. She stood beside the dressing-table absently fingering
the trinkets lying there. Among them was a portrait of Challoner in a
silver frame. The pictured eyes seemed to be watching her as she stood
trying to avoid the human ones. With sudden exasperation she turned.

"Jimmy, you'll hate me--you'll--oh, why didn't you get my letter?" she
broke out vehemently. "I explained so carefully, I----" she stopped.

There was a little silence. Challoner rose to his feet. He was rather
white about the lips. There was a dawning apprehension in his eyes.

"Go on," he said. "What is it you--you can't--can't tell me?"

But he knew already, knew before she told him with desperate candour.

"I can't marry you, Jimmy, I'm sorry, but--but I can't--that's all."

The silence fell