"Jove! isn't it hot!" he said.
He was beginning to wonder if he had drunk too much champagne; he passed his silk handkerchief over his flushed face.
"I thought it was rather cold," said Christine timidly.
He frowned.
"Does that mean that you want the window up?" He did not mean to speak sharply; but he was horribly nervous, and Sangster's parting words had not improved matters at all.
Christine burst into tears; she was overstrung and excited; her nerves were all to pieces; she sobbed for a moment desolately.
Jimmy swore under his breath; he did not know what to do. After a moment he touched her—he pressed his silk handkerchief into her shaking hands.
"Don't cry," he said constrainedly. "People will think I've been unkind to you . . . already!" he added with a nervous laugh.
She mopped her eyes obediently; she felt frightened.
The horrible feeling that Jimmy was a stranger came back to her afresh. Oh, was this the kind boy lover who had been so good to her that day her mother died—the kind lover who had taken her in his arms and told her that she had him, that he would never leave her?