They had reached the house again now; Christine got out of the car and stood for a moment with one foot on the step looking up at Kettering. There was a little silence. "How long have we known each other?" he asked suddenly. She looked up startled--she made a rapid calculation. "Nearly three weeks, isn't it?" she said then. He laughed. "It seems longer; it seems as if I must have known you all my life." The words were ordinary enough, but the look in his eyes brought the swift colour to Christine's cheeks--her eyes fell. "Is that a compliment?" she asked, trying to speak naturally. "I hope so; I meant it to be." Her hand was resting on the open door of the car; for an instant he laid his own above it; Christine drew hers quickly away. "Well, we'll be ready at two, then," she said. She turned to the house. Kettering drove slowly down the drive. He was a very fine-looking man, Christine thought with sudden wistfulness; he had been so kind to her--kinder than anyone she had ever known. She was glad he was going to have Upton House, as it had got to be sold. He had promised her to look after it, and not have any of the trees in the garden cut down. "It shall all be left just as it is now," he told her. "Perhaps some day you'll marry, and your wife will want it altered," she said sadly. "I shall never get married," he had answered quickly. She had been glad to hear him say that; he was so nice as a friend, somehow she did not want anyone to come along and change him. She went into the house and called to Gladys. "I thought you would think we were lost perhaps," she said laughingly, as she thrust her head into the morning-room where Gladys was sitting. The elder girl looked up; her voice was rather dry when she answered: "No, I did not think that." Christine threw her hat aside. "I can't drive a bit," she said petulantly. "I'm so silly! I nearly ran into the wall at the gate." "Did you?" "Yes. Gladys, we're going over to Heston at two o'clock with Mr. Kettering." Gladys looked up. "We! Who do you mean by 'we'?" "You and I, of course." "Oh"--there was a momentary silence, then: "There's a letter for you on the table," said Gladys. Christine turned slowly, a little flush of colour rushing to her cheeks. She glanced apprehensively at the envelope lying face upwards, then she drew a quick breath, almost of relief it seemed. She picked the letter up indifferently and broke open the flap. There was a moment of silence; Gladys glanced up. "What's the matter?" she asked. Christine was staring out of the window, the letter lay on the floor at her feet. "Jimmy's ill," she said listlessly. "Ill!" Gladys laid down her pen and swung round in the chair. "What's the matter with him?" she asked rather sceptically. "I don't know. You can read the letter, it's from Mr. Sangster--Jimmy's great friend." She handed the letter over. Gladys read it through and gave it back.