"Oh, I do love you—I do," she said softly.
Jimmy coloured hotly; he felt an uncontrollable longing to kick himself; he kissed her again with furtive haste.
"That's all right, dear," he said.
They had arranged to stay a week in London.
Christine liked London. "And we couldn't very well do anything very much, could we?" So she had appealed to him wistfully. "When mother——" She had not been able to go on.
Jimmy had agreed hastily to anything; he had chosen a very quiet and select hotel, and taken a suite of rooms. He did not know how on earth they were going to be paid for; he was counting on an extra cheque from the Great Horatio as a wedding present. He was relieved when the taxi stopped at the hotel; he got out with a sigh; he turned to give his hand to Christine; his heart smote him as he looked at her.
Sangster was right when he had called her "such a child." She looked very young as she stood there in the afternoon sunshine, in her black frock, and with her white flowers clasped nervously in both hands. Jimmy felt conscious of a lump in his throat.
"Come along, dear," he said very gently; he put his hand through her arm. They went into the hotel together.
Christine went upstairs with one of the maids. Jimmy said he would come up presently for tea; he went into the smoking-room and rang for a brandy and soda. For the first time in his life he was genuinely afraid of what he had done; he knew now that he cared nothing for Christine. It was a terrifying thought.
And she had nobody but him—the responsibility of her whole life lay on his shoulders; it made him hot to think of it.