The Second Honeymoon | Page 7

through with it now, and presently he found himself following Mrs.
Wyatt and Christine through the hall of the hotel at which they were
staying.
"It's quite like old times, isn't it?" he said with an effort. "Quite like the
dear old days at Upton House. Don't I wish we could have them again."
"The house is still there," said Mrs. Wyatt laughing. "Perhaps you will
come down again some day."
Challoner did not think it likely. There would be something very
painful in going back to the scene of those days, he thought. He was so
much changed from the light-hearted youngster who had chased
Christine round the garden and pulled her hair because she would not
kiss him.

He looked at her with reminiscent eyes. There was a little flush in her
pale cheeks. She looked more like the child-sweetheart he had so nearly
forgotten.
Mrs. Wyatt had moved away. He and Christine were alone. "I used to
kiss you in those days, didn't I?" he asked, looking at her. He felt
miserable and reckless.
She looked up at him with serious eyes. "Yes," she said almost
inaudibly.
Something in her face stirred an old emotion in Jimmy Challoner's
heart. This girl had been his first love, and a man never really forgets
his first love; he leaned nearer to her.
"Christine, do you--do you wish we could have those days over again?"
he asked.
A little quiver crossed her face. For a moment the beautiful brown eyes
lit up radiantly. For a moment she was something better than just
merely pretty.
He waited eagerly for her answer. His pride, if nothing deeper, had
been seriously wounded that night. The tremulous happiness in this
girl's face was like a gentle touch on a hurt.
"Do you--do you wish it?" he asked again.
"Yes," said Christine softly. "Yes, if you do."
CHAPTER II
JILTED!
It was late when Jimmy got home to his rooms; he was horribly tired,
and his head ached vilely, but he never slept a wink all night.
The fact that Cynthia's husband was alive did not hurt him nearly so

much as the fact that Cynthia had avoided him that evening and left the
theatre with Mortlake. Jimmy hated Mortlake. The brute had such piles
of money, whilst he--even the insufficient income which was always
mortgaged weeks before the quarterly cheque fell due, only came to
him from his brother. At any moment the Great Horatio might cut up
rough and stop supplies.
Jimmy was up and dressed earlier than ever before in his life. He went
out and bought some of the most expensive roses he could find in the
shops. He took them himself to Cynthia Farrow's flat and scribbled a
note begging her to see him if only for a moment.
The answer came back verbally. Miss Farrow sent her love and best
thanks but she was very tired and her head ached--would he call again
in the afternoon?
Challoner turned away without answering. There was a humiliating
lump in his throat. At that moment he was the most wretched man in
the whole of London. How on earth could he get through the whole
infernal morning? And was she always going to treat him like this in
the future? refusing to see him--deliberately avoiding him.
He wandered about the West End, staring into shop windows. At
twelve o'clock he was back again at his rooms. A messenger boy was at
the door when he reached it. He held a letter which Challoner took
from him. It was from Cynthia Farrow.
He tore it open anyhow. His pulses throbbed with excitement. She had
relented, of course, and wanted to see him at once. He was so sure of it
that it was like a blow over the heart when he read the short note.
DEAR JIMMY,--I am afraid you will be hurt at what I am going to say,
but I am sure it is better for us not to meet again. It only makes things
harder for us both, and can do no good. I ought to have said good-bye
to you last night, only at the last moment I hadn't the courage. If you
really care for me you will keep away, and make no attempt to see me.
I can never marry you, and though we have had some very happy days
together, I hope that you will forget me. Please don't write, either; I

really mean what I say, that this is good-bye.
CYNTHIA.
The messenger boy fidgeted uncomfortably, staring at Jimmy
Challoner's white face. Presently he ventured a question. "Is there an
answer, sir?"
Challoner turned then, "No, no answer."
He let himself into his rooms and shut the door. He felt as if he were
walking in space. For