in and again, but he never once looked her
way. His attention was centered on the stage and the woman who played
there.

She was so beautiful he could never give her up, he told himself
passionately. With each moment her charm seemed to grow. He watched
her with despairing eyes; life without her was a crude impossibility.
He could not imagine existence in a world where he might not love her.
That other fellow--curse the other fellow!--he ground his teeth in
impotent rage.

The brute had deserted her years ago and left her to starve. He had
not the smallest claim on her How. By the time the play was ended
Jimmy Challoner had worked himself into a white heat of rage and
despair.

Christine Wyatt, glancing once more towards him as the curtain rose for
the final call, wondered a little at the tense, unyielding attitude of
his tall figure. He was standing staring at the stage as if for him
there was nothing else in all the world. She stifled a little sigh as
she turned to put on her cloak.

The house was still applauding and clamouring for Cynthia to show
herself again. Challoner waited. He loved to see her come before the
curtain--loved the little graceful way she bowed to her audience.

But to-night he waited in vain, and when at last he pushed his way
round to the stage door it was only to be told that Miss Farrow had
left the theatre directly the play was over.

Challoner's heart stood still for a moment. She had done this
deliberately to avoid him, he was sure. He asked an agitated question.

"Did she--did she go alone?"

The doorkeeper answered without looking at him, "There was a gent with
her, sir--Mr. Mortlake, I think."

Challoner went out into the night blindly. He had to pass the theatre
to get back to the main street. Mrs. Wyatt and Christine were just
entering a taxi. Christine saw him. She touched his arm diffidently
as he passed.

"Jimmy!"

Challoner pulled up short. He would have avoided them had it been at
all possible.

Mortlake! she had gone with that brute, whilst he--he answered Mrs.
Wyatt mechanically.

"Thanks--thanks very much. I was going to walk, but if you will be so
kind as to give me a lift."

He really hardly knew what he was saying. He took off his hat and
passed a hand dazedly across his forehead before he climbed into the
taxi and found himself sitting beside Christine.

He forced himself to try to make conversation. "Well, and how did you
enjoy the p