Gladys's kind eyes grew anxious, she stood silent for a moment.
"I'm ever so much happier here," Christine went on. "I hate London; I hate the horrid hotels. I'd much rather be here with you and——" she broke off.
Gladys let go of her hand; there was a pucker of anxiety between her eyes. What had Kettering said to Christine? she asked herself in sudden panic. Surely he had not broken his word to her. She dismissed the thought with a shrug of the shoulders.
"Don't be a baby, Chris," she said a trifle impatiently. "It's up to you this time, anyway. What's the use of being young and as pretty as you are if you can't win the man you want?"
Christine dried her eyes, her cheeks were flushed.
"But I don't want him," she said with sudden passion. "I don't want him any more than he wants me."
Gladys stared at her in speechless dismay, she felt as if a cold hand had been laid on her heart. She was unutterably thankful when the dinner gong broke the silence; she turned again to the door.
"Well, I want my dinner, that's all I know," she said.
She went downstairs without waiting for Christine.
Jimmy met her in the hall; he looked at her with a sort of suspicion, she thought, and she knew she was colouring.