He had swept her off her feet. A moment since she had never dreamed of anything like this; and now—now her head was on Jimmy Challoner's shoulder, and his arm round her.
"Don't cry," he said huskily. "Don't cry—I didn't mean to be a brute.
Did I frighten you?"
He was already beginning to realise what he had done. A little cold shiver crept down his spine.
He had kissed this girl and asked her to marry him; but he did not love her. There was something still of the old boyish affection for her in his hearty but nothing more. Remorse seized him.
"Don't cry," he begged again with an effort. "Would you like me to go away? . . . Oh, don't cry, dear."
Christine dried her eyes.
"It's—it's only be-because I'm so h-happy," she said on the top of a last sob. "Oh, J-Jimmy—I do love you."
The words sounded somehow infinitely pathetic. Jimmy bit his lip hard.
His arm fell from about her waist.
"I—I'm not half good enough for you," he stammered.
He really meant that. He felt himself a perfect rotter beside her innocent whole-hearted surrender. Christine was looking at him with tearful eyes, though her lips smiled tremulously.