"I know—I heard you."
"Very well; what's it all about? What have I done to upset you like this?"
She shut her eyes for a moment. When he spoke to her so kindly it almost broke her heart; it brought back so vividly the boy sweetheart whom she had never really forgotten. And yet this Jimmy was not the Jimmy she had known in those happy days, This Jimmy only looked at her with the same eyes; in reality he was another man—a stranger whom she feared and almost hated.
He took her hand.
"Christine—are you ill?"
She opened her eyes; they were blazing.
The touch of his fingers on hers seemed to drive her mad.
"Yes," she said shrilly, "I am—ill because of you and your lies, and your hateful deception; ill because you've broken my heart and ruined my life. You swore to me that you'd never see Cynthia Farrow again. You swore to me that it was all over and done with; and now—now——"
"Yes—now," said Jimmy; his voice was hoarse and strained. "Yes—and now," he said again, as she did not answer.
She wrenched herself free.