The Second Honeymoon Part 22

Jimmy turned away.

"Yes," he said in a stifled voice. "If I'd only seen the accursed thing--but I didn't; she opened it, and then----" There was a long pause before he went on again jerkily. "I did my best--even then--but she wouldn't believe me; she doesn't believe me now. I swore that I'd never see Cynthia again; I swore that I'd do anything in the whole world she wanted----"

"Except the one thing which you cannot do, I suppose," Sangster interposed quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Love her," said Sangster. "That's what I mean."

Jimmy tried to laugh; It was a miserable failure. "She's hardly spoken to me since," he went on, after a moment, wretchedly. "I've--oh, I've had a devil of a time these last two days, I can tell you. I can't get her to come out with me--she hardly leaves her room; she just cries and cries," he added with a sort of weariness. "Just keeps on saying she wants her mother--she wants her mother."

"Poor little girl."

"Yes--that's how I feel," said Jimmy. "It's--it's perfectly rotten, isn't it? And she looks so ill, too. . . . What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Well, then, I wish to G.o.d you would," said Jimmy with sudden rage.

"I'm about fed-up with life, I can tell you----" He broke off. "Oh, I don't mean that; but I'm worried to death. I--what the devil _can_ I do?" he asked helplessly.

Sangster did not know how to answer; he sat staring down at the worn toes of his carpet slippers and thinking of Christine.

She was such a child, and she loved Jimmy so much. It made his heart ache to think of the shy happiness he had always read in her eyes whenever she looked at Jimmy.

"Of course, I shouldn't have told you, only I know you won't say a word," said Jimmy presently. "I--I stood it as long as I could; I stood it till I felt as if I should go mad, and then I bolted off here to you. . . . She's got n.o.body but me, you see." He drew a long breath. "I only wish to G.o.d Mrs. Wyatt were alive," he added earnestly.

Sangster said nothing. "I wondered if, perhaps, you'd go round and see her, old chap," Jimmy jerked out then. "She likes you. Of course, you needn't say you'd seen me. Couldn't you 'phone up or something? Get her to go out. . . . She'll die if someone can't rouse her."

Sangster coloured.

"I--I'm not good at that sort of thing, Jimmy. It's not that I'm unwilling to help you; I'd do anything----"

"Well, then, try it; there's a good chap. You--you were so decent to her that day Mrs. Wyatt died; you've got a sort of way that I haven't.

I--I should be no end obliged. I'll--I'll keep out of the way myself for a bit, and then----" He looked anxiously at his friend. "Will you go?"

"She probably won't see me if I do."

"She will. She's sick of the sight of me."

Sangster smiled in spite of himself. He got up, stretching his arms; he shook his head at Jimmy.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking," said Jimmy savagely. "But I swear to you that it's not my fault this time, anyway. I swear to you that I've done my best. I----"

"I'm not doubting it," said Sangster dryly. He fetched his hat and coat from a room adjoining, and they went out into the street together.

"Take her out to lunch," said Jimmy nervously. "Take her for a walk in the park--try to rouse her a bit; but for heaven's sake don't talk about me."

He looked anxious and worried; he really was very upset; but he was conscious of an enormous sense of relief as he and Sangster parted at the street corner. As soon as Sangster was out of sight he hailed a taxi, and told the man to drive him to his club. He ordered a stiff brandy and soda, and dropped into one of the deep leathern arm-chairs with a sigh. He had been married only three days, and already it seemed like three years. Of course, he was not blaming Christine, poor little girl; but--oh, if only she hadn't been quite such a child!

He lifted the gla.s.s, and looked at its contents with lugubrious eyes.

"Well, here's to a brighter future," said Jimmy Challoner drearily; but he sighed heavily as he tossed off the brandy and soda.

Sangster felt decidedly nervous when he reached the hotel where Jimmy and his wife were staying. He had no faith in his own powers, though apparently Jimmy had plenty for him; he was no ladies' man; he had never troubled about a woman in his life, probably because none had ever troubled about him. He asked punctiliously for Jimmy; it was only when told that Mr. Challoner was out that he asked for Christine.

A little gleam of something like sympathy shot into the man's eyes.

The chambermaid who waited on Christine was voluble, and a friend of his, and he had heard a great deal from her that was untrue, mixed up with a smattering of truth.

He said that he was sure Mrs. Challoner was in; he sent a page-boy up with Sangster's card.

It seemed a long time before the reply came. Mrs. Challoner would be pleased to see Mr. Sangster; would he go up to her sitting-room.

Sangster obeyed reluctantly; he dreaded tears; he dreaded to see grief and disillusionment in the beautiful eyes which he could only remember as happy and trusting. He waited nervously till she came to him. He looked round the room apprehensively; it had an empty, unlived-in look about it, though there were various possessions of Jimmy's scattered about it--a pipe, newspapers, and a large box of cigarettes. There was a small pair of Christine's slippers, too, with high heels. Sangster looked at them with eyes which he did not know were tender. They seemed to appeal to him somehow; there was such a solitary look about them, standing there in a corner by themselves.

Then the door opened and she came in; a little pale ghost of the girl whom he had last seen, with quivering lips that tried to smile, and shadows beneath her eyes.

It was an effort to Sangster to greet her as if he were unconscious of the tragedy in her face; he took her hand in a close grip.

"I am so glad you allowed me to come up; I didn't want to intrude; I asked for Jimmy, but they told me he was out, and so I wondered if you would see me--just for a moment."

"I am very glad you came; I"--she bit her lip--"I don't think Jimmy will be back to lunch," she said.

"Capital!" Sangster tried to speak naturally; he laughed. "Then will you come out to lunch with me? Jimmy won't mind, and----"

"Oh, no, Jimmy won't mind." There was such bitterness in her voice that for a moment it shocked him into silence; she looked at him with burning eyes. "Jimmy wouldn't mind no matter what I did," she said, almost as if the words were forced from her against her will. "Oh, Mr.

Sangster, why did you let him marry me?--you must have known. Jimmy doesn't care any more for me than--than you do."

There was a tragic pause. She did not cry; she just looked at him with broken-hearted eyes.

"Oh, my dear; don't--don't say that," said Sangster in distress.

He took her hand and held it clumsily between his own. Her words had been like a reproach. Was he to blame? he asked himself remorsefully; and yet--what could he have done? Christine would not have believed him had he tried to tell her.

"It's true," she said dully. "It's true . . . and now I haven't got anybody in all the world."

Sangster did not know what to answer. He broke out awkwardly that things were always difficult at first; that Jimmy was really one of the best; that if only she would have a little patience, everything would come right; he was sure of it.

But she only shook her head.

"I ought to have known; I can't think now why it is that I never guessed," she said hopelessly. "All the other women he has known are so much better than I am."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't say that," he broke out; there was a sort of horror in his face as he contrasted Cynthia and her friends to this girl. "You're ill and run down," he went on urgently. "Everything seems wrong when you're not well. Will you come out with me? It's not raining now, and the air's beautifully fresh. I'm longing for a walk myself; I've been writing all the morning. We'll have some lunch together, and walk in the park afterwards, shall we?"

He thought she was going to refuse; she shook her head.

"Please do," he urged. "I want to talk to you; there are so many things I want to say to you." He waited a moment. "You told me once that you liked me," he submitted whimsically. "You've not gone back on that, have you?"