"Yes; a man named Kettering--a friend of your brother's, I believe--is negotiating for it, at any rate. Whether the purchase is really completed or not, I----" "Kettering!" Jimmy's voice sounded angry. "Kettering--that stuck-up ass!" he said savagely. Sangster laughed. "I shouldn't have described him as stuck-up at all," he said calmly. "He struck me as being an extremely nice sort of fellow." "Was he there, then?" "Yes--he's staying somewhere in the neighbourhood temporarily, I believe, from what I heard; at any rate, he seemed very friendly with--with your wife and Miss Leighton." Jimmy began pacing the room. "I remember him well," he said darkly, after a moment. "Big chap with a brown moustache--pots of money." He walked the length of the room again. "Christine ought not to encourage him," he burst out presently. "What on earth must people think, as I'm not there." "I don't see any harm," Sangster began mildly. Jimmy rounded on him: "You--you wouldn't see harm in anything; but Christine's a very attractive little thing, and----" He broke off, flushing dully. "Anyway, I won't have it," he added snappily. "I don't see how you're going to stop it, unless----" "Unless what?" "Unless you go down there." Sangster spoke deliberately now. In spite of his calm assertion that there was no harm in Kettering's visit to Upton House, his anxious eyes had noticed the indefinable something in Kettering's manner towards Christine that had struck Gladys Leighton that first evening. Sangster knew men well, and he knew, without any plainer signs or telling, that it was not the house itself that took Kettering there so often, but the little mistress of the house, with her sweet eyes and her pathetic little smile. He got up and laid a hand on Jimmy's shoulder as he spoke. "Why not go down yourself?" he said casually. Jimmy swore. "I said I wouldn't. . . . I'm not going to be the first to give in. It was her doing--she sent me away. If she wants me she can say so." "She has her pride, too, you know," Jimmy swore again. He was feeling very ill and upset; he was firmly convinced that he was the most ill-used beggar in the whole of London. Remorse was gnawing hard at his heart, though he was trying to believe that it was entirely another emotion. He had not slept properly for nights; his head ached, and his nerves were jumpy. "I'll not go till she sends for me," he said again obstinately. Sangster made no comment. He did not see Jimmy again for some days, though he heard of him once or twice from a mutual acquaintance. "Challoner's going to the devil, I should think," so the mutual acquaintance informed him bluntly. "What's the matter with the chap? Hasn't anybody got any influence over him? He's drinking hard and gambling his soul away." Sangster said "Rubbish!" with a confidence he was far from feeling.