The man hesitated, then: 

“Mr. Challoner told me he should not be dining in this evening, madam,” he said reluctantly.  “He came in about three o’clock, and went out again; I think there was a message for him.  He told me to tell you if you came in.”  He averted his eyes from Christine’s blanching face as he spoke.  “I am sure that is what Mr. Challoner said, madam,” he repeated awkwardly.

“Oh, very well.”  Christine stood quite still in the empty room when he had gone; it seemed all the more lonely and empty, now that once again she had been robbed of her eager hopes.

Jimmy was not coming home.  Jimmy found her so dull and uninteresting that he was only too glad of an excuse to stay out.

She wondered where he had gone; whom the message had been from.

A sudden crimson stain dyed her cheek. . . .  Cynthia Farrow!

She tried hard to stamp the thought out of existence—­tried hard to push it from her but it was useless.  It grew and grew in her agonised mind till she could think of nothing else.  She walked about the room, wringing her hands.

If Jimmy had gone to Cynthia, that was the 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!”