THE SECOND HONEYMOON

Sun (Christchurch), Volume IV, Issue 1230, 21 January 1918, Page 8

THE SECOND HONEYMOON

[By RUBY M. AYRES, author of "Richard Chaltcrton, V.C.," "Richard and Sonia," "A Man of His Word."J [Copyright.] CHAPTER XXIIL-- (Continued)— THE TOSS OF A COIN. Ho could uot help thinking of Christine's mother, too; he had been fond of her —she had mothered him so much in tho old days; ho wondered if she knew how he had repaid;all her kindness; what sort of a hash he had made of lifo for poor little Christine. "You'd better cut off to bed," Sangstor said again bluntly. Ho lit a cigarette and puffed- a cloud of smoke into tho air; he was really disturbed about Jimmy. Tho repeated advice seemed to annoy Jimmy; he frowned and rose to his feet; he caught his breath with a sort of gasp of pain. Sangster turned quickly. "What's up, old chap?" "Only my rotten head —it acliC3 like the very devil." Jimmy stood for a moment with his hand pressed hard over his eyes, then he took a step forward, and stopped again. "I can't—I —confound it all i Sangster caught his arm. "Don't be an ass; go to bed." Ho raised his voice; he called to Costin; between them they put Jimmy to bed and tucked him up. He kept protesting that there was nothing the matter with him; but bo seemed gratoful for the darkness of the room, and the big pillows beneath his aching head. Sangster went back to the sittingroom with Costin. "I don't think we need seud for a doctor," he said. "It's only a chill, I think. See how he is in the morning. What's he been up to, Costin?'^ Costin pursed his lips and raised his brows. , "He's been out most nights, sir," lie answered stoically. "Only comes home with tho milk, as you might say. Hasn't slept at all, and doesn't eat. It's my opinion, sir, that he's grieving like —" Ho looked towards the mantelshelf and the place which they could both remember had once held Cynthia Farrow's portrait. Sangster shook his head. "You mean " he asked reluct-

antlv. "Yes, sir." Costin tiptoed across tho room and closed the door which led to Jimmy's bedroom. "He's ne\ er been the same, sir, since Miss Farrow died—asking your pardon," he added hurriedly. Sangster threw his cigarette end firewards. "It's rotten business—rotten," he said heavily. Li his own heart he agreed with Costin; he believed that it was Cynthia's death that was breaking Jimmy's heart. Ho would have given ten years of his life to have been able to believe that it was something else—something quite different. "Well, I'll look in again in the morning," he said. "And if you want me, send round, of course." "Yes, sir." Costin helped Sangster on with his coat and saw him to the door; he was dying to ask what had become of Mrs jimmy, but did not like to. He was sure that Jimmy had merely got married out of pique, ami that he had repented as quickly as one generally does repent iu such cases. Sangster walked back to his rooms; he felt very depressed. He was fond of Jimmy though he did not approve of him; he racked his brains to know what to do for the best. "When he got home he sat down at his desk and stared at the pen and ink for some moments undecidedly; then he began to write. He addressed an envelope to Christine down at Upton House, and stared at it till it was dry. After all, she might resent his interference, and yet, on the other hand, if Jimmy were going to be seriously ill, she would blame him for not having told her. Finally he took a penny from his waistcoat pocket and tossed up for it. "Hoad3 I write, taib I leave it alone.''

He tossed badly and the penny came down in the waste-paper basket, but it came down heads, and with a little lugubrious grimace, Sangster dipped the pen In the ink again and squared his elbows.

He wrote the letter four times before it suited him, and even then it seemed a pretty poor epistle to his critical eye as ho read it through for the last time. "Dear Mrs Challoncr,—l am just writing to let you know that Jimmy is ill; nothing very serious, but I thought perhaps you would like to know. If you could spare time to come and see him, I am sure he would very much appreciate it. He seems very down on his luck. I don't want to worry or alarm you, and am keeping an eye on him myself, but thought It only right that you should know.—Your sincere friend, " Ralph Sangster." It seemed a clumsy enough way of explaining things, ho thought discontentedly, and yet —well, it would have to go, it was the best he could do. He folded tho paper and put it into the envelope; he sat for a moment with it in his hand looking down at Christine's married name, "Mrs James Challoner.''

Poor little Jimmy! A wife, and yet no wife. Sangst.er lifted the envelope to his lips, and hurriedly kissed the name before he thrust the envelope into his pocket and went out to post it. Would she come, he wondered? he asked himself the question anxiously before he dropped the letter into the box. Somehow deep down in his heart ho did not think that she would.