She and Jimmy had so often ridden its impossible back together; this deserted room was full of Jimmy and her mother—to her sad heart it was peopled with ghost faces, and whispering voices that would never come any more.
Kettering turned away.
"Shall we see the rest of the house?" he asked. He hated that look of sadness in her face; he was surprised because he felt such a longing to comfort her.
But they had no time to see the rest of the house, for at that moment someone called, "Christine—Christine," from the hall below, and Christine clasped her hands delightedly.
"That is Gladys. Oh, I am so glad—so glad."
She forgot all about Kettering; she ran away from him, and down the stairs in childish delight. He followed slowly. He reached the hall just in time to see her fling herself into the arms of a tall girl standing there; just in time to hear smothered ejaculations.
"You poor darling!" and "Oh, Gladys!" and the sound of many kisses.
He stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Over Christine's head, his eyes met those of the elder girl. She smiled.
"Christine . . . you didn't tell me you had visitors."
Christine looked up, all smiles now and apologies, as she said: