But he began to remember the little flush that always crept into Christine's face when she saw him, the expression of her beautiful eyes; and the memory gave him back some of his lost self-confidence. Christine liked him, at all events; Christine would never have behaved as Cynthia had done . . . Christine. . . . Jimmy Challoner hailed a passing taxi, and gave the address of the hotel where Christine and her mother were staying.
His desire for sympathy drove him there; his desire to be with someone who liked his company. He was bruised all over by the treatment he had received from Cynthia Farrow; he wanted balm poured on his wounds.
The hall porter told him that Mrs. Wyatt was out, but that he thought the young lady——
"It's Miss Wyatt I wish to see," said Jimmy impatiently.
After a moment he was asked to come upstairs. He knew the Wyatts had a private sitting-room. Christine was there by the fire when he entered.
"Jimmy," she said eagerly.
Jimmy Challoner went forward with outstretched hand.
"I hope you don't mind my coming again so soon; but I was bored—thoroughly fed-up," he explained stumblingly.
Christine looked radiant. She had not yet learned to disguise her true feelings. Jimmy was still holding her hand; she tried gently to free it.
"Don't—don't take it away," said Jimmy. The double dose of brandy and his own agitation had excited him; he drew her over to the fire with him; he hardly knew what he was doing.