Sangster did not look at her, but a little flush rose to his brow. "Thank you," he said, and his voice sounded, somehow, quite changed. As the curtain fell on the second act, he rose quietly from his seat and went round to where Jimmy stood. "Take my place," he said in an undertone. Jimmy looked up. He had not been following the play; he had been thinking--thinking always of the same thing, always of the past few weeks, and the shock of their ending. He rose to his feet rather reluctantly. Sangster sat down beside Mrs. Wyatt. Once or twice he looked across to Christine. She and Jimmy were not talking very much, but there was a little smile on Christine's face, and she looked at Jimmy very often. Jimmy sat with his chin in the palm of his hand, staring before him with moody eyes. Sangster felt a sort of impatience. What the deuce could the fellow ever have seen in Cynthia Farrow? he asked himself. Was he blind, that he could not penetrate her shallowness, and see the small selfishness of her nature? A pretty face and laugh, and an undoubted knowledge of men--they were all the assets she possessed; and Sangster knew it. But to Jimmy--Sangster metaphorically shrugged his shoulders as he looked at his friend's moody face. How could he sit there next to that child and not realise that in his longing he was only grasping at a shadow? What was he made of that he saw more beauty in Cynthia Farrow's blue eyes than in the sweet face of his boyhood's love? Sangster was glad when the play was over; theatres always bored him. He did not quite know why he had invited himself to Jimmy's box to-night. When they rose to leave he smiled indulgently at Christine's rapt face. "You have enjoyed it," he said. "Yes--ever so much. But I liked Miss Farrow and the play she was in better." Jimmy turned sharply away; nobody answered. "We're going on to Marnio's to supper," Jimmy said as they crossed the foyer. "Christine has never been there." She looked up instantly. "No, I haven't." "It's the place to see stage favourites," Sangster told her. In his heart he was surprised that Jimmy should choose to go there. He thought it extremely probable that Cynthia Farrow and some of her numerous admirers would put in an appearance; but it was not his business, and he raised no objection. When they entered the long room he cast a swift glance round. She was not here yet, at all events; one could only hope that she would not come at all. Everything was new and wonderful to Christine. She was like a child in her delight. She sat in a corner of one of the great, softly cushioned sofas, and looked about her with wide eyes. Jimmy sat beside her. Sangster had manoeuvred that he should. He and Mrs. Wyatt were opposite. The orchestra was playing a dreamy waltz. The long room was brilliantly lit, and decorated with pink flowers. Christine leaned across and squeezed her mother's hand. "Oh, isn't it just too lovely?" she said. Mrs. Wyatt laughed.