LOVE LOCKED OUT
Jimmy only glanced at Christine; his eyes went past her almost
immediately to the man who was following her into the room; a streak of
red crept into his pale face.
It was Kettering who recovered himself first; he went forward with
outstretched hand.
"Well, I never! We were just talking about you."
His voice was quite steady, perfectly friendly, but his heart had given
one bitter throb of disappointment at sight of Christine's husband.
This was the end of their little half-hour together. Perhaps it was
Fate stepping in opportunely to prevent him making a fool of himself.
Jimmy and he shook hands awkwardly. Jimmy had made no attempt to greet
his wife. One would have thought that they had met only an hour or two
previously, to judge by the coolness of their meeting, though beneath
her black frock Christine's heart was racing, and for the first few
moments she hardly knew what she was doing or what she said.
Jimmy looked ill; she knew that, and it gave her a faint little
heartache; she avoided looking at him if she could help it. She left
the two men to entertain each other, and busied herself with the
tea-tray.
Kettering rose to the occasion nobly. He talked away as if this
unwelcome meeting were a pleasure to him. He did his best to put
Christine at her ease, but all the time he was wondering how soon he
could make his excuses and escape; how soon he could get out of this
three-cornered situation, which was perhaps more painful to him than to
either of his companions.
He handed the tea for Christine, and sat beside her, screening her a
little from Jimmy's worried eyes. How was she feeling? he was asking
himself jealously. Was she glad to see her husband, or did she feel as
he did--that Jimmy's unexpected presence had spoilt for them both an
hour which neither would easily have forgotten?
"How is your brother?" he asked Jimmy presently. "I haven't heard from
him just lately. I suppose he has thought no more of coming home? He
has talked of it for so long."
Jimmy roused himself with an effort. He had not touched his tea, and
he had given the cake he had mechanically taken to Christine's terrier.
He looked at her now, and quickly away again.
"He is on his way home," he said shortly.
There was a little silence. Christine's face flushed; her eyes grew
afraid.
"On his way home--the Great Horatio?"
Jimmy's nickname for his brother escaped her unconsciously. Jimmy
smiled faintly.
"Yes; I heard last night. I--I believe he arrives in England on
Monday."
It was Kettering who broke the following silence.
"I shall be glad to see him again. He will be surprised to hear that I
have come across you and Mrs. Challoner." He spoke to Jimmy, but his
whole attention was fixed on the girl at his side. He had seen the
sudden stiffening of her slim little figure, the sudden nervous clasp
of her hands.
And then the door opened and Gladys Leighton walked into the room. She
looked straight at Kettering, and he met her eyes with a sort of
abashed humiliation. He rose to his feet to offer her his chair.
Jimmy rose also. He and Gladys shook hands awkwardly.
"Well, I didn't expect to see _you_," said Gladys bluntly. She glanced
at Christine.
"None of us expected to see him," said Jimmy's wife, rather shrilly.
"The Great Horatio is on his way home. I suppose he has come down to
tell us the news." Her voice sounded flippant. Jimmy was conscious of
a sharp pang as he listened to her. He hardly recognised Christine in
this girl who sat there avoiding his eyes, avoiding speaking to him
unless she were obliged.
Once she had hung on his every word; once she had flushed at the sound
of his step; but now, one might almost have thought she was Kettering's
wife instead of his.
He hated Kettering. He looked at him with sullen eyes. He thought of
what Sangster had said of this man--that he was always at Upton House;
that he seemed very friendly with both the girls. A vague jealousy
filled Jimmy's heart. Kettering was rich, whilst he--well, even the
small allowance sent to him by his brother looked now as if it were in
danger of ceasing entirely.
If the Great Horatio knew that he and Christine were practically
separated; if the Great Horatio ever knew the story of Cynthia Farrow,
Jimmy Challoner knew that it would be a very poor lookout for him
indeed.
He wondered how long Kettering meant to stay. He felt very much
inclined to give him a hint that his room would be preferable to his
company; but, after all, he himself was in such a weak position. He
had come to see Christine unasked. It was her house, and in her
present mood it was quite probable that she might order him out of it
if he should make any attempt to assert his authority.
She spoke to him suddenly; her beautiful brown eyes met his own
unfalteringly, with a curious antagonism in them.
"Shall you--shall you be staying to dinner, or have you to catch the
early train back to London?"
He might have been the veriest stranger. Jimmy flushed scarlet.
Kettering turned away and plunged haphazard into conversation with
Gladys Leighton.
Jimmy's voice trembled with rage as he forced himself to answer.
"I should like to stay to dinner--if I may."
He had never thought it possible that she could so treat him, never
believed that she could be so utterly indifferent. Christine laughed
carelessly.
"Oh, do stay, by all means. Perhaps Mr. Kettering will stay as well?"
Kettering turned. He could not meet her eyes.
"I am sorry. I should like to have stayed; but--but I have another
engagement. I am very sorry."
The words were lame enough; nobody believed their excuse. Kettering
rose to take his leave. He shook hands with Gladys and Jimmy. He
turned to Christine.
"I will come and see you off," she said.
She followed him into the hall, deliberately closing the door of the
drawing-room behind her.
"We must have our little tea another day," she said recklessly. She
did not look at him. "It was too bad being interrupted like that."
She hardly knew what she was saying. Her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes
were feverish. Kettering stifled a sigh.
"Perhaps it is as well that we were interrupted," he said very gently.
He took her hand and looked down into her eyes.
"You're so young," he said, "such a child still. Don't spoil all your
life, my dear."
She raised defiant eyes.
"My life was spoilt on my wedding day," she said in a hard voice.
"I---- Oh, don't let us talk about it."
But he did not let her hand go.
"It's not too late to go back and begin again," he said with an effort.
"I know it--it must seem presumptuous for me to talk to you like this,
but--but I would give a great deal to be sure that you were happy."
"Thank you." There was a little quiver in her voice, but she checked
it instantly. She dragged her hand free and walked to the door.
It was quite dark now; she was glad that he could not see the tears in
her eyes.
"When shall I see you again?" she asked presently.
He did not answer at once, and she repeated her question: "When shall I
see you again? I don't want you to stay away so long again."
He tried to speak, but somehow could find no words. She looked up at
him in surprise. It was too dark to see his face, but something in the
tenseness of his tall figure seemed to tell her a great deal, She spoke
his name in a whisper.
"Mr. Kettering!"
He laid his hand on her shoulder. He spoke slowly, with averted face.
"Mrs. Challoner, if I were a strong man I should say that you and I
must never meet again. You are married--unhappily, you think now; but,
somehow--somehow I don't want to believe that. Give him another
chance, will you? We all make mistakes, you know. Give him another
chance, and then, if that fails----" He did not finish. He waited a
moment, standing silently beside her; then he went away out into the
darkness and left her there alone.
Christine stood listening to the sound of his footsteps on the gravel
drive. He seemed to take a long while to reach the gate, she thought
mechanically; it seemed an endless time till she heard it slam behind
him.
But even then she did not move; she just stood staring into the
darkness, her heart fluttering in her throat.
She would have said that she had only loved one man--the man whom she
had married; but now. . . . Suddenly she covered her face with her
hands, and, turning, ran into the house and upstairs to her room,
shutting and locking the door behind her.