The Second Honeymoon | Page 9

him to
have some with us."
Her voice sounded very gay; the little flush had not died out of her
cheeks.
"I am very pleased you have come," said Christine's mother. She shook
hands with Jimmy, and smiled at him with her mother-eyes.
Jimmy wished they would not be so kind to him. It made him feel a

thousand times more miserable.
When he began to eat he was surprised to find that he was really
hungry. A glass of wine cheered him considerably; he began to talk and
make himself agreeable. As a matter of course, they talked about the
old days at Upton House; Jimmy began to remember things he had
almost forgotten; there had been an old stable-loft----
"Do you remember when you fell down the ladder?" Christine asked
him laughingly. "And the way you bumped your head----"
"And the way you cried," Jimmy reminded her.
"Didn't she, Mrs. Wyatt?"
Mrs. Wyatt laughed.
"Don't refer to me, please," she said. "I am beginning to think that I
never knew half what you two did in those days."
Christine looked at Jimmy shyly.
"They were lovely days," she said with a sigh.
"Ripping!" Jimmy agreed. He tried to put great enthusiasm into his
voice, but in his heart he knew that he had long since outgrown the
simple pleasures that had seemed so great to him then. He thought of
Cynthia, and the wild Bohemianism of the weeks that had passed since
he first got engaged to her; that was life if you pleased, with a capital
letter. It seemed incredible that it was all ended and done with; that
Cynthia wanted him no longer; that his place in her life was filled by
another man; that he would never wait at the theatre for her any more;
never---- He caught his breath on a great sigh. Christine looked at him
with her brown eyes. She, at least, had never outgrown the old days; to
her they would always be the most wonderful of her whole life.
"And what are we going to do this afternoon?" Mrs. Wyatt asked when
lunch was ended.

"Anything you like," said Jimmy. "I am entirely at your disposal."
"Mother always likes a nap after lunch," said Christine laughing. "She
never will stir till she has had it."
"Very well; then you and I will go off somewhere together," said
Jimmy promptly. "At least"--he looked apologetically at Mrs.
Wyatt--"if we may?" he added.
"I think I can trust you with Christine," said Christine's mother. "But
you'll be in to tea?"
Jimmy promised. He did not really want to take Christine out. He did
not really want to do anything. He talked to Mrs. Wyatt while Christine
put on her hat and coat. When they left the hotel he asked if she would
like a taxi.
Christine laughed.
"Of course not. I love walking."
"Do you?" said Jimmy. He was faintly surprised. Cynthia would never
walk a step if she could help it. He pondered at the difference in the
two women.
They went to the Park. It was a fine, sunny afternoon, cold and crisp.
Christine wore soft brown furs, just the colour of her eyes, Jimmy
Challoner thought, and realised that her eyes would be very beautiful to
a man who liked dark eyes in preference to blue, but--thoughts of
Cynthia came crowding back again. If only he were with her instead of
this girl; if only---- Christine touched his arm.
"Oh, Jimmy, look! Isn't that--isn't that Miss Farrow?"
Her voice was excited. She was looking eagerly across the grass to
where a woman and a man were walking together beneath the trees.
Jimmy's heart leapt to his throat; for a moment it seemed to stop

beating.
Yes, it was Cynthia right enough; Cynthia with no trace of the
headache with which she had excused herself to him only that morning;
Cynthia walking with--with Henson Mortlake.
Christine spoke again, breathlessly.
"Is it? Oh, is it Miss Farrow, Jimmy?"
"Yes," said Jimmy hoarsely.
Cynthia had turned now. She and the man at her side were walking
back towards Jimmy and Christine.
As they drew nearer Cynthia's eyes swept the eager face and slim figure
of the girl at Jimmy's side. There was the barest flicker of her lids
before she raised them and smiled and bowed.
Jimmy raised his hat. He was very pale; his mouth was set in unsmiling
lines.
"Oh, she is lovely!" said Christine eagerly. "I think she is even prettier
off the stage than she is on, don't you? Actresses so seldom are, but
she--oh, don't you think she is beautiful, Jimmy?"
"Yes," said Challoner. He hated himself because he could get nothing
out but that monosyllable; hated himself because of the storm of
emotion the sight of Cynthia had roused in