She stood at the door of the railway carriage until the last minute; she sent all manner of absurd messages, to the Great Horatio; she told Christine to be sure, to give him her love; she kept up a running fire of chaff and banter till the train started away, and a pompous guard told her to "Stand back, there!" and presently the last glimpse of Christine's pale little face and Jimmy's worried eyes had been swallowed up in the darkness of evening.
Then Gladys turned to walk home alone with a feeling of utter desolation in her heart and an undignified smarting of tears in her eyes.
"I hope to goodness I've done the right thing in letting her go," she thought, as she turned out on to the dark road again. "I hope—I beg your pardon," she had bumped into a tall man coming towards her.
He stopped at sound of her voice, it was Kettering.
"Miss Leighton, what in the world——" he began in amazement.
"I've been seeing Jimmy off," Gladys explained airily, though her heart was beating uncomfortably. "Jimmy and Christine; they've gone off on a second honeymoon," she added flippantly.
"Jimmy—and Christine!" he echoed her words in just the tone of voice she had dreaded and expected to hear, half hurt, half angry. She could feel his eyes peering down at her, trying to read her face through the darkness, then he gave a short, angry laugh.
"I suppose you think you are protecting her from me," he said roughly.
Gladys did not answer at once, and when she spoke it was in a queer, strangled voice:
"Or perhaps I am protecting you—from her!"