"And so you and Jimmy were children together," said Arthur Sangster.
The curtain had just fallen on the first act, and the lights turned up suddenly in the theatre had revealed Christine's face to him a little flushed and dreamy.
Sangster looked at her smilingly. Jimmy had called her a child; but he had not said how sweet a child she was, he thought, as his eyes rested on her dainty profile and parted lips.
She seemed to wake from dreaming at the sound of his voice. She gave a little sigh, and leaned back in her chair.
"Yes," she said. "We used to play together when we were children."
"Such a long, long time ago," said Sangster, half mockingly, half in earnest.
She nodded seriously.
"It seems ages and ages," she said. She looked past him to where Jimmy sat talking to her mother. He might have sat next to her, she thought wistfully. Mr. Sangster was very nice, but—she caught a little sigh between her lips.
"Jimmy has told me so much about you," Sangster said. "I almost feel as if I have known you for years."
"Has he?" That pleased her, at all events. Her brown eyes shone as she looked at him. "What did he tell you?" she asked, interestedly.