She could not bear to look at him now. It cut her to the heart to see the listless droop of his shoulders and the haggard lines of his face. It was not for her--his sorrow; that was the thought she kept steadily before her eyes; it was not because he had offended and hurt her past forgiveness; but because Cynthia Farrow was now only a name and a memory. The train was late in starting. Jimmy stood on the platform trying to make conversation; he had bought a pile of magazines and a box of chocolates which lay disregarded beside Christine on the seat; he had ordered luncheon for her, although she protested again and again that she should not eat anything. He racked his brains to think if there were any other little service he could do for her. He was full of remorse and shame as he stood there. She had been so fond of him--she had meant to be so happy; and now she was glad to be leaving him. The guard blew his whistle. Jimmy turned hastily, the blood rushing to his white face. "If you ever want me, Christine----" She seemed not to be listening, and he broke off, only to stumble on again: "Try and forgive me--try not to think too hardly of me." She looked at him then; her beautiful eyes were hard and unyielding. The train had begun to move slowly from the platform. Jimmy was on the footboard; he spoke to her urgently. "Say you forgive me, Christine. If you'll just shake hands----" She drew back, as if she found him distasteful. The train was gathering speed. A porter made a grab at Jimmy. "Stand back, sir." Jimmy obeyed mechanically. Christine would not have cared had he been killed, he told himself savagely. But for his pig-headed foolishness, he and Christine might have been going down to Upton House together; but for the past---- "Damn the past!" said Jimmy Challoner as he turned on his heel and walked away. * * * * * * But the past was very real to Christine as she sat there alone in a corner of the first-class carriage into which Jimmy had put her, and stared before her with dull eyes at a row of photographs advertising seaside places. This was the end of all her dreams of happiness. She and Jimmy were separated; it seemed impossible that they had ever really been married--that she was really his wife and he her husband. She dragged off her glove, and looked at her wedding ring; she had never taken it off since the moment in that dingy London church when Jimmy had slipped it on. And yet it was such an empty symbol. He had never loved her; he had married her because some other woman, whom he did love, was beyond his reach. She did not cry; she seemed to have shed all the tears in her heart. She just sat there motionless as the train raced her back to the old house and the old familiar scenes, where she had been happy--many years ago--with Jimmy Challoner. He had wired to Gladys Leighton; Gladys would be there at the station to meet her. She wondered what she would say to her.