Gladys glanced across at Jimmy Challoner; he looked miserable enough; at the sight of his thin face and worried eyes she softened towards him; she took Christine's hand.
"I think you ought to go," she said.
Jimmy turned away; he stood staring down into the fire; he felt somehow as if they were both taking a mean advantage of Christine; he felt as if he had tried to force her hand; he was sure she did not wish to come back to him, but he was sure, too, that because in her heart she thought it her duty to do so, he would not return to London alone that night.
Nobody spoke for a moment; Jimmy was afraid to look round, then
Christine said slowly:
"Very well, what train are we to go by?"
Her voice sounded a little expressionless; Jimmy could not look at her.
"Any train you like," he said jerkily. "My time is yours—anything you want . . . you have only to say what you would like to do."
A few weeks ago she would have been so happy to hear him speak like that, but now the words seemed to pass her by.
"We may as well have dinner first, and go by a fast train," she said. "I hate slow trains. Will you—will you pack some things for me?" She looked at Gladys.
"Of course." Gladys turned to the door, and Christine followed her, leaving Jimmy alone.