Married—this child! It seemed so absurd. She looked about seventeen.
Suddenly:
"And where is Jimmy?" he asked her abruptly. "I wonder if he would remember me! Hardly, I expect; it's a great many years since we met."
Christine had been expecting the question; she kept her face averted as she answered:
"Jimmy is in London; he saw me off this morning. He—he isn't able to come down just yet."
There was a little silence.
"I see," said Kettering. Only ten days married, and not able to come down. Jimmy had never done an hour's work in his life, so far as Kettering could remember. He knew quite well that he was living on an allowance from his brother; it seemed a curious sort of situation altogether.
He took his tea from Christine's hands. He noticed that they trembled a little, as if she were very nervous, he tried to put her at her ease; he spoke no more of Jimmy.
"I wonder what has happened to your friend?" he said cheerily. "I dare say she will turn up here directly."
"I hope she will." Christine glanced towards the window; it was rapidly getting dusk. "I hope she will," she said again apprehensively. "I should hate having to stay here by myself." She shivered a little as she spoke. She turned to him suddenly.