id. "We used to play together when we were children."

"Such a long, long time ago," said Sangster, half mockingly, half in
earnest.

She nodded seriously.

"It seems ages and ages," she said. She looked past him to where Jimmy
sat talking to her mother. He might have sat next to her, she thought
wistfully. Mr. Sangster was very nice, but--she caught a little sigh
between her lips.

"Jimmy has told me so much about you," Sangster said. "I almost feel
as if I have known you for years."

"Has he?" That pleased her, at all events. Her brown eyes shone as
she looked at him. "What did he tell you?" she asked, interestedly.

Sangster laughed.

"Oh, all about Upton House, and the fine time you used to have there;
all about the dogs, and an old horse named Judas."

She laughed too, now.

"Judas--he died last year. He was so old, and nearly blind; but he
always knew my step and came to the gate." Her voice sounded wistful.
"Jimmy used to ride him round the field, standing up on his back," she
went on eagerly. "Jimmy could ride anything."

"Jimmy is a very wonderful person," said Sangster gravely.

She looked rather puzzled.

"Do you mean that?" she asked. "Or are you--are you joking?"

He felt suddenly ashamed.

"I mean it, of course," he said gently. "I am very fond of Jimmy,
though I haven't known him as long as you have."

"How long?" she asked.

He made a little calculation.

"Well, it must be five years," he said at length. "Or perhaps it is
six; the time goes so quickly, I lose count."

"And do you live in London too?"

"Yes; I live in an unfashionable part of Bloomsbury."

"Near Jimmy?"

"No; Jimmy lives in the Temple."

"Oh."

It evidently conveyed nothing to her.

"And do you know his brother--the great Horatio?" she asked laughingly.

"I had the honour of meeting him once," he answered with mock gravity.

"So did I--years ago. Isn't he funny?"

"Very." Sangster agreed. He thought it a very mild word with which to
describe Horatio Ferdinand; he pitied Jimmy supremely for having to own
such a relative. The stage bell rang through the theatre, the curtain
began to swing slowly up.

"We went to see Cynthia Farrow the other night," Christine said.
"Isn't she lovely?"

"I suppose she is!"

"Suppose! I think she's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,"
Christine declared vehemently. "Jimmy knows her, he says." She turned
her head. "Do you know her too?"

"Ye