A CHANCE MEETING
Two days passed uneventfully away, but Kettering did not come to Upton
House. Christine's first faint resentment and amazement had turned to
anger--an anger which she kept hidden, or so she fondly believed.
She hardly went out. She spent hours curled up on the big sofa by the
window reading, or pretending to read. Gladys wondered how much she
really read of the books which she took one by one from the crowded
library.
The third morning Christine answered Sangster's letter. She wrote very
stiltedly; she said she was sorry to hear that Jimmy was not well, but
no doubt he was all right again by this time. She said she was
enjoying herself in a quiet way, and very much preferred the country to
London.
"I have so many friends here, you see," she added, with a faint hope
that perhaps Sangster would show the letter to Jimmy, and that he would
gather from it that she did not miss him in the very least.
And Sangster did show it to Jimmy; to a rather weak-looking Jimmy,
propped up in an armchair, slowly recovering from the severe chill
which had made him quite ill for the time being.
A Jimmy who spoke very little, and asked no questions at all, and who
took the letter apathetically enough, and laid it by as soon as he had
read it.
"You wrote to her, then," he said indifferently.
"Yes."
"You might have saved yourself the trouble; I knew she would not come.
If you had asked me I could have told you. Of course, you suggested
that she _should_ come."
"Yes."
Jimmy's eyes smiled faintly.
"Interfering old ass," he said affectionately.
Sangster coloured. He was very unhappy about Jimmy; he had always
known that he was not particularly strong, and, as a matter of fact,
during the past few days Jimmy had grown most surprisingly thin and
weak, though he still insisted that there was nothing the matter with
him--nothing at all.
There was a little silence.
"I suppose that's meant for a dig at me," said Jimmy presently. "That
bit about having so many friends. . . . She means Kettering, I
suppose."
"I don't see why she should," said Sangster awkwardly.
Jimmy laughed rather grimly.
"Well, it's only tit for tat if she does," he said. "But I
thought----" He did not finish; did not say that he had thought
Christine cared too much for him ever to give a thought to another
fellow. He turned his head against the cushions and pretended to
sleep, and presently Sangster went quietly away.
He thought that Christine had--well, not behaved badly. How could
anyone blame her for anything she chose to do or not to do, after what
had occurred? But, still, he was vaguely disappointed in her; he
thought she ought to have come--just to see how Jimmy really was.
But Christine was not thinking very much about Jimmy in those days at
all. Somehow the foreground of her life seemed to have got filled up
with the figure of another man; a man whom she had never once seen
since that drive over to Heston.
Sometimes she thought she would write a little note and ask him to come
to tea; sometimes she thought she would walk the way in which she knew
she could always meet him, but something restrained her.
And then one afternoon, quite unexpectedly, she ran into him in the
village.
He was coming out of the little post office as she was going in, and he
pulled up short with a muttered apology before he recognised her;
then--well, then they both got red, and a little flame crept into
Kettering's eyes.
"I thought I was never going to see you any more," Christine said
rather nervously. "Are you angry with me?"
"Angry!" He laughed a little. "Why ever should I be angry with
you? . . . I--the fact is, I've been in London on business."
"Oh!" She looked rather sceptical; she raised her chin a dignified
inch. "You ought to have told me," she said, unthinkingly.
He looked at her quickly and away again.
"I missed you," said Christine naïvely.
"That is very kind of you." There was a little silence. "May I--may I
walk a little way with you?" he asked diffidently.
"If you care to."
He checked a smile. "I shall be delighted," he said gravely.
They set out together.
Christine felt wonderfully light-hearted all at once; her eyes
sparkled, her cheeks were flushed. Kettering hardly looked at her at
all. It made him afraid because he was so glad to be with her once
more; he knew now how right Gladys had been when she asked him not to
come to Upton House again. He rushed into conversation; he told her
that the weather had been awful in London, and that he had been
hopelessly bored. "I know so few people there," he said. "And I kept
wondering what you were----" He broke off, biting his lip.
"What I was doing?" Christine finished it for him quickly. "Well, I
was sitting at the window most of the time, wondering why you didn't
come and see me," she said with a laugh.
"Were you----"
She frowned a little; she looked up at him with impatient eyes.
"What is the matter? I know something is the matter; I can feel that
there is. You are angry with me; you----"
"My dear child, I assure you I am not. There is nothing the matter
except, perhaps I am a little--worried and--and unhappy."
He laughed to cover his sudden gravity. "Tell me about yourself
and--and Jimmy. How is Challoner?"
He had never spoken to her of Jimmy before; his name had been tacitly
unmentioned between them. Christine flushed; she shrugged her
shoulders. "I don't know; he wasn't very well last week, but I dare
say he is all right again now." Her voice was very flippant. In spite
of himself Kettering was shocked; he hated to hear her speak like that;
he had always thought her so sweet and unaffected.
"He ought to come down here for a change," he said in his most
matter-of-fact tones. "Why don't you insist that he comes down here
for a change? Country air is a fine doctor; he would enjoy it."
"I don't think he would; he hates the country." She spoke without
looking at him. "I am sure that he is having a much better time in
London than he would have here----" She broke off. "Mr. Kettering,
will you come back and have tea with me?"
Kettering coloured; he tried to refuse; he wanted to refuse; but
somehow her brown eyes would not let him; somehow----
"I shall be delighted," he heard himself say.
He had not meant to say it; he would have given a great deal to recall
the words as soon as they were spoken, but it was too late. Another
moment and they were in the house.
He looked round him with a sense of great pleasure. It seemed a
lifetime since he had been here; it was like coming home again to be
here and with the woman he loved. He looked at little Christine with
wistful eyes.
"Gladys is out," she said, "so you will have to put up with me alone;
do you mind?"
"Do I mind!" She coloured beneath his gaze; her heart was beating fast.
He followed her across the hall. He knew he was doing the weak thing;
knew that he ought to turn on his heel and go away, but he knew that he
intended staying.
An hour with Christine alone; it was worth risking something for to
have that. Christine opened the drawing-room door.
"We'll have tea here," she said; "it's much more cosy. I----"
She stopped dead; her voice broke off into silence with a curious
little jarring sound.
A man had risen from the sofa by the window; a tall young man, with a
pale face and worried-looking eyes--Jimmy Challoner!