He ate no breakfast. He tried to remember whether he had promised to go round to the Wyatts' that morning or not; everything was a blank in his mind except the one fact that he was engaged to Christine.
He could remember that clearly enough, at all events.
About eleven he took his hat and went out. He was annoyed because the sun was shining; he was annoyed because London was looking cheerful when he himself felt depressed beyond measure.
Unconsciously he found his way to the Wyatts' hotel; they were both out, for which he was grateful.
"Miss Wyatt left a message for you in case you called, sir," the porter told him. "She said would you come back to lunch?"
Jimmy muttered something and walked away. He had no intention of going back to lunch; he wandered down Regent Street. Presently he found himself staring in at a jeweller's window. That reminded him; he would have to buy Christine a ring.
He wondered if Cynthia intended to keep the one he had given to her; it had cost him a fabulous sum. He had been hard up for weeks afterwards in consequence; and even then it was not nearly so fine as some she already had—as some Mortlake could afford to give her, for instance.
He could not yet realise that this detestable thing had really happened to him. He made up his mind that if Christine would have him, he would marry her at once. There was nothing to wait for—and he wanted to let Cynthia see that he was not going to wear the willow for her.
He turned away from the window and the dazzling rows of diamond rings and walked on. He remembered that he had not answered his brother's letter; on the spur of the moment he turned into the nearest post office and sent a cable:
Letter received. Am engaged to Christine Wyatt, of Upton House. You remember her.—JAMES.