. Mrs. Wyatt's constant presence had kept
Christine young; had made her more of a child than she would have been
had she had to look after herself. She felt her position now the more
acutely in consequence.

"Serious accident to Miss Cynthia Farrow." Her eyes caught the
headline of the paragraph as she idly turned the page; she gave a
little start. Her hands clutched the paper convulsively.

She read the few lines eagerly:

"Miss Cynthia Farrow, the well-known actress, was the victim of a
serious motor-car accident this afternoon. Returning from the theatre,
the car in which Miss Farrow was riding came into collision with a car
owned by Mr. C. E. Hoskins, the well-known airman. Miss Farrow was
unfortunately thrown out, and is suffering from concussion and severe
bruises. Miss Farrow has been appearing at the ---- Theatre as . . . ."

Christine read no more. She did not care for the details of Cynthia
Farrow's life; all she cared was that this paragraph settled for once
and all her doubt about Jimmy. Of course, Jimmy could not be with her
if she were ill and unconscious. She felt bitterly ashamed of her
suspicion; her spirits went up like rockets; she threw the paper aside.
The terrible load of care seemed lifted for a moment from her
shoulders; she was asking Jimmy's pardon on her heart's knees for
having ever dreamed that he would do such a thing after all his
promises to her.

She opened the door and looked into the corridor. Downstairs she could
hear a band playing in the lounge; it sounded inviting and cheery. She
went down the stairs and found a seat in a palm-screened corner.

Jimmy had begged her to mix more with other people, and not stay in her
room so much. If he came in now he would be pleased to see that she
had done as he asked her, she thought with a little thrill.

She could look ahead now, and make plans for their future. She would
consent to leaving London at once, and going somewhere where Cynthia
Farrow's influence had never made itself felt. She would start all
over again; she would be so tactful, so patient. She would win him
over to her; make him love her more than he had ever loved Cynthia.

Her face glowed at the thought; her eyes shone like stars. She lost
herself in happy introspection.

"Yes--rotten hard luck, isn't it?" said a voice somewhere behind her.
"Just when she's on the crest of the wave, as you might say. Doubtful
if she gets over it, so I hear."

Ch