Esther trudged to and fro from the agency where the stiff and stately lady presided so many times during the next few days that she began to hate the sight of the tall building and the dark stairs covered with worn linoleum.

Every day the waiting-room seemed crowded with girls, many of whom were a great deal more shabby and hopeless looking than she was, and they all sat patiently on the wooden chairs and eyed one another with a sort of jealous suspicion till their turn came to pass within the magic portal which guarded the stiff and stately lady from the vulgar gaze.

“I told you an agency wouldn’t be any good,” June Mason said when Esther came home after another fruitless journey. “They take your money and forget you till you turn up to remind them that you’re still in existence. Give it up, my dear, and come into partnership with me. I should love to take you round to all the big stores and tell them that you owe your milk and rose complexion to my famous cream.” She burst out laughing. “Can’t you imagine it! Esther, you and I ought to tour the country in a caravan or something. Call ourselves the new Sequah.” She rolled over in the big chair and hid her face in the cushions.

Esther laughed; she felt quite at home now in June’s room. There were a few of her own possessions lying about, and she had bought Charlie a new cushion of his own. It gave her a sense of independence to know that she was paying her share of everything.

“I shall get something if I wait long enough,” Esther said presently. “Do you know, I rather think I should like to be a companion, after all. I told Mr.–––” She 98 stopped; she had been about to add that she had once told Micky how she would hate it.

“It might not be so bad,” June admitted; “but you want some one with pots of money and a good temper.”

She looked at Esther consideringly.

“There wouldn’t have to be any eligible sons either,” she said bluntly. “You’re much too pretty–––”

Esther laughed.

“What nonsense!”

June dragged Esther to her feet and made her look in the glass.

“Now dare to call it nonsense––look at yourself,” she commanded.

But Esther only looked at June.

“Next to you,” she began, but June cut her short.

“If you’re going to try blatant flattery,” she said.

They both laughed at that.

Some one tapped at the door; Lydia, the smiling housemaid, appeared; she looked at the two girls with a sort of parental expression; she was very fond of them both, and never minded how late or how hard she worked to do little extra jobs for either of them. It was her greatest pride to stay in when her “evening out” came and help June label the little mauve pots; she recommended the famous cream to all her friends; she was as proud of it as if it were her own invention.

She carried a note on a tray now, which she handed to Esther.

“I found it on the hall table, Miss,” she said. “It must have been left by messenger.”

She waited a moment to make up the fire and tidy the hearth; she was always glad of an excuse to stay in the room; she was never tired of telling her friends what a pretty room it was––she loved the mauve cushions and the many photographs.

She went away with a reluctant backward look. June yawned.

“Another love-letter?” she asked chaffingly. She looked 99 across at Esther, and was surprised to see the embarrassment in the girl’s face.

“It’s from Mr. Harley,” she said, in distress. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve never let him think I–––” She handed the letter to June. “He wants me to go to a theatre with him,” she added in confusion.

“Well, I should go,” said June promptly. “You don’t get much fun, and the man knows you’re engaged, and if he likes to chance it–––”

“But how does he know I’m engaged? I’ve never told him.”

“I did,” June said calmly. “I saw the way the wind was blowing and told him to save complications.” She made a little grimace at Esther. “And after this note are you still going to declare that he isn’t more than ordinarily interested? Esther, you’re the most unsuspecting baby––– Say you’ll go, of course. There’s no harm in it.”

“I certainly shall not go,” Esther said; “I don’t want to, for one thing, and, for another, it would not be fair–––”

“You mean to Mr. Harley?” June asked.

“Yes, and to–––”

“To the phantom lover! Oh, I see!” said June drily.

Esther coloured.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said with a touch of dignity.

“Oh yes, you do,” June declared. “Don’t look so angry! What am I to call him, pray? You haven’t told me his name.” She waited, but Esther did not speak. “Of course, if you’d rather not,” she added, rather stiffly.

Esther got up and came over to sit on the arm of her chair.

“It isn’t that I don’t want you to know, but––well, I promised him not to tell any one; you see, his people would be furious if they knew. After all, I suppose I’m not anybody, and–––”

June pushed her away.

“Oh, you make me tired!” she said crossly. “Why will you insist on belittling yourself? Who on earth is this wonderful man that he sets himself up for such a model of superiority? He can’t be anybody if he’s ashamed of you. You don’t like Micky, I know, but, with all his money and position, if he loved you he’d be only too proud to shout it from the housetops, and not care a hang what the world thought. There’s no rotten pride about Micky––if he loved a beggar girl he’d be proud of it.... No, don’t say any more, it makes me boil!”

She lit another cigarette and puffed at it furiously.

“Do you––do you think I should go with Mr. Harley, then?” Esther asked presently. Her pretty face was flushed and troubled.

“No, I don’t,” said June emphatically. “I think you ought to please yourself. I don’t want to advise you, but it does seem to me that you’re throwing away any chance of real happiness for a––for a, what do they call it?––something beginning with a ‘c’....”

“Chimera,” said Esther. She sat with downcast eyes for a moment, then suddenly she began to cry. Perhaps in her heart she felt in some mysterious way that June was right, that this girl, with her odd instinct, had put her hand right on the heart of things, and that her happiness did not really lie with Raymond Ashton.

And yet she loved him. Night and day he was never out of her thoughts. She slept with his letters under her pillow. Since he went away he had done much to blot out all that had gone before. And yet sometimes the memory of that past unhappiness, of its disagreements and quarrels and petty unkindnesses would raise its ugly head and look at her with a sort of leer as if daring her to forget entirely.

June was all remorse in a moment.

“I’m a pig!” she said disgustedly. “I ought to be kicked. Why do you let me talk so much? It’s awful cheek of me to dare to criticise you. I’ll never do it again. He may be an angel for all I know. Esther, if 101 you don’t stop crying I shall cry too, and then there’ll be a nice sort of noise.”

Esther dried her eyes and laughed shakily.

“I’m silly; I don’t know why I cried. There’s nothing to cry for,” she protested.

“That’s why women always cry,” said June hardily.