"Did she—did she go alone?"
The doorkeeper answered without looking at him, "There was a gent with her, sir—Mr. Mortlake, I think."
Challoner went out into the night blindly. He had to pass the theatre to get back to the main street. Mrs. Wyatt and Christine were just entering a taxi. Christine saw him. She touched his arm diffidently as he passed.
"Jimmy!"
Challoner pulled up short. He would have avoided them had it been at all possible.
Mortlake! she had gone with that brute, whilst he—he answered Mrs.
Wyatt mechanically.
"Thanks—thanks very much. I was going to walk, but if you will be so kind as to give me a lift."
He really hardly knew what he was saying. He took off his hat and passed a hand dazedly across his forehead before he climbed into the taxi and found himself sitting beside Christine.
He forced himself to try to make conversation. "Well, and how did you enjoy the play?"
It was a ghastly effort to talk. He wondered if they would notice how strange his manner was.