“I want you, Jimmy,” she said. It was the first time she had called him by name. “I want you, dear.”
His arms were about her, and her lips met his.
They did not hear the tinkle of the bell, but they heard the knock at the door, and the girl slipped from his arms and was collecting the tea-things when Angel walked in.
He looked at Jimmy inanely, fiddling with his watch chain, and he looked at the girl.
“Awfully sorry to intrude again,” he said, “but I got a wire at the little postoffice up the road telling me I needn’t take the case at Newcastle, so I thought I’d come back and tell you, Jimmy, that I will take what I might call a ‘cemetery drink’ with you to-night.”
“I am not going,” said Jimmy, recovering his calm.
“Not—not going?” said the astonished Angel.
“No,” said the girl, speaking over his shoulder, “I have persuaded him to stay.”
“Ah, so I see!” said Angel, stooping to pick up two hairpins that lay on the hearthrug.
THE END