end of everything. She
could never forgive this. If Jimmy had gone to Cynthia, she hoped that
she would die before she ever saw him again.

She could not believe that she had ever talked to him of Cynthia--that
she had ever admired her, or thought her beautiful. She hated her
now--hated her for the very charms that had so hopelessly captivated
the man she loved. If Jimmy had gone to Cynthia . . . she stood still,
fighting hard for self-control.

She tried to remember what Sangster had said:

"Jimmy is such a boy; give him a chance." And here she was already
condemning him without a hearing.

She bit her lips till they bled. She would wait till she knew; she
would wait till she was sure--quite sure.

She did her best to eat some of the dinner she had ordered, but it was
uphill work. Jimmy's empty chair opposite was a continual reminder of
his absence. Where was he? she asked herself in an agony of doubt.
With whom was he dining whilst she was here alone?

After dinner she tried to read. She sat down by the fire, and turned
the pages of a magazine without really seeing a line or picture. When
someone knocked at the door she started up eagerly, with flushing
cheeks; but it was only the waiter with coffee and an evening paper.

She asked him an anxious question:

"Mr. Challoner has not come in yet?" She tried hard to speak as if it
were nothing out of the ordinary for Jimmy to be out.

"Not yet, madam." He set down the coffee and the evening paper and
went quietly away. Outside on the landing he encountered the maid who
waited on Christine.

"It's a shame--that's what it is!" the girl said warmly when he told
her in whispered tones that Mrs. Challoner was alone again. "A shame!
and her only just married, the pretty dear!"

She wondered what Christine was doing; she hovered round the door,
sympathetic and longing to be able to help, and not knowing how.

Christine had taken up the paper. She did not know how to pass the
evening; the minutes seemed to be dragging past with deliberate
slowness.

She looked at the clock--only eight! She waited some time, then looked
again. Five past. Why, surely the clock must have stopped; surely it
must be half an hour since she had last glanced at its expressionless
face.

She sighed wearily.

She had never felt so acutely alone and deserted in all her life; she
had hardly been separated for a single day from her mother till death
stepped in between them