"You're a silly fool," Jimmy said savagely, as they walked away. "What in the world did you want to say that for?"
"My dear fellow, I thought it was all right. I thought you'd made it up. I'm awfully sorry."
"We haven't made it up—never shall from what I can see," Jimmy snapped at him. "Oh, for the Lord's sake let's talk about something else."
Sangster raised his troubled eyes to the dark starless sky. He had been so sure everything was all right. Jimmy had made no recent confidence to him. He had thought Christine looked well and happy—and now, after all. . . .
"It looks as if we shall have some more rain," he said dully. "It's been awful weather this week, hasn't it?"
"Damn the weather!" said Jimmy Challoner.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE UNEXPECTED
Four days passed away, and still the Great Horatio had not arrived in London. He had sent a couple of telegrams from Marseilles explaining that a chill had delayed him.
"Sly old dog," Jimmy growled to Sangster. "He means that he's having a thundering good time where he is."