Micky’s pencil jerked suddenly, sending an aimless scrawl across the paper; for an instant he stared at his companion with blank eyes. Fortunately June Mason was too intent on the relighting of her cigarette to have any attention to spare for him; she went on talking as she puffed.

“Yes....”––puff––“that’s her name....” Another puff. “Isn’t it a change from your eternal Violets and Dorothys?”... Puff, puff. “Oh, bother!” She threw the cigarette into an empty grate behind her and prepared to give Micky her undivided attention once more. “Well, what do you think about it? You haven’t written her name down. Esther Shepstone, I said.... Write it down,” she commanded.

Micky obeyed at once. He was beginning to recover himself a little.

“I shall be able to help her all right,” he said quickly. “Only, of course, you won’t let her know I’m mixed up in it at all; she’d hate it if she knew, she....”

“How do you know she would?” June demanded with suspicion.

Micky met her eyes squarely.

“Well, you said she was proud or something, didn’t you? And anyway I don’t want to pose as a blessed philanthropist; I’m not one either, but I’ll see what I can do for––for this new friend of yours. You say she’s poor?”

“Horribly poor, I’m afraid,” said June with a sigh. “Micky, it’s rather pathetic––somebody sent her some money––not very much, but still, it was money she evidently didn’t expect. I’ve got a sort of idea that it was from this man she’s supposed to be engaged to–––”

“Why do you say ‘supposed’––she is engaged to him, isn’t she?”

June shrugged her shoulders.

“She says so, and she wears a ring, but I’ve a sort of instinctive feeling that there’s something funny behind it. Anyway, I know she’s not happy; but don’t interrupt. About this money––well, it was partly my fault! I persuaded her to go and buy herself some clothes––she had such a few things, poor child! And I even went with her and she bought a frock and a new coat....”

“Yes,” said Micky eagerly; he was glad she had bought a new coat; he remembered how thin hers had been on that memorable night, and how she had shivered in the cold night air.

“She was as pleased as a child with a new toy,” Miss Mason went on. “She brought them all up to my room to show me when they came home, and we both tried them on ... and you’ve no idea how sweet she looked,” she added with enthusiasm. “Of course, I suppose this is boring you horribly,” she said deprecatingly.

“No,” said Micky honestly. “It’s not boring me at all, I promise you.”

“Well, anyway, she got the clothes, and now the place where she was before say they can’t take her back––it’s Eldred’s, the petticoat shop. I don’t suppose you know it, but–––”

“I know it very well,” said Micky.

“Oh, do you?” She laughed. “Well, they either won’t or can’t take her back, and now she feels that she ought not to have spent the money on the new frock and coat, and this morning she told me that she was afraid she would have to leave Elphinstone Road, as it was more than she could afford.” June’s eyes flashed. “Micky, what can one do with people who are poor and proud? It’s a most difficult combination to fight. I blundered in and offended her by offering to lend her some money, and, of course, she wouldn’t hear of it, and there you are!”

She sighed, and leaned back in her chair despondently.

“Have a cake,” said Micky absently; he pushed the plate across to her. “The ones with the white sugar are nice.”

Miss Mason ignored him.

“If that’s all the interest you take–––” she said offendedly.

Micky started.

“My dear girl, I’m full of interest––chock full to the brim! But we came here for tea, so we may as well eat something while I try to think of a plan.” He wrinkled his forehead. “Of course,” he ejaculated, “that chap––what did you say his name was?”

“What chap? Oh, the fiancÉ! I don’t know; she hasn’t even let me see his photograph yet; but she says he writes dreams of letters. I haven’t seen them either, of course.”

“He may send her some more money. After all, you say it’s only four days since she heard from him. That’s not very long; men are always rotten letter writers.”

Miss Mason looked wise.

“Four days is a long time when you’re in love,” she said. “If you were engaged to Esther Shepstone I’ll bet you’d write to her every day. You’re just the kind. Oh, I know what you’re going to say––that you’re cut out for a bachelor, and rubbish like that, but you wait and see, Micky––it’s never too late.”

“I’ve never written a love-letter in my life,” Micky declared indignantly. “And, anyway–––”

June leaned across the table and looked at him with accusing eyes.

“Never? On your word of honour, Micky?”

Micky laughed and coloured.

“Well, perhaps––once!” he admitted. “But that’s beside the point, isn’t it?... I’ll think things over and write to you.”

“Yes, but soon, Micky, soon! It’s not a case where you can sit down with your feet on the mantelpiece and 69 give yourself a week to turn things over in your mind. I want to know at once, to-morrow––to-night, if possible. I know what Esther is––she’ll be gone before I can turn round, and I should hate her to go. I haven’t got many friends, and I do feel that she and I are going to be real friends––great friends ... I don’t know when I’ve taken such a fancy to anybody–––”

“You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that,” said Micky. His eyes were shining. Then he realised that he had displayed rather unnecessary warmth and hastened to amend his words. “I always said that what you wanted was a real woman friend,” he added more quietly.

June was drawing on her gloves; she had very white hands and beautifully-kept finger-nails, and she was very proud of them.

“Never mind me,” she said briskly. “You bustle about and find a post for Esther, and I’ll love you for ever. Are we ready?”

She rose and gathered up her various belongings. Micky declared that she was always laden with small, oddly-shaped parcels.

“Samples, my dear man, samples!” she said briskly when Micky asked if he might not be allowed to carry some. “And they’re much too precious to risk you dropping any.”

“There’s just one stipulation,” Micky said as he followed her downstairs again. “You’re not to tell Miss Shepstone anything about me––I’m going to be very strict on this subject. Will you promise?”

“Bless your heart, yes––and if you come to tea one day–––”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll come to tea,” Micky said hastily. “I should only feel rotten––self-conscious and all the rest of it, even if I was quite sure she didn’t know anything––not that there’s anything to know yet,” he added quickly. “I may not be able to help her.”

Miss Mason laughed.

“Oh, you’ll help her right enough,” she said breezily. “I know you.”

She dismissed him when they reached the street. “No, I don’t want you to come with me; I’ve got some business to see to and you’d only be a nuisance.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “Good-bye, and thanks ever so much Micky. You’ll write to me––or wire?”

“As soon as there is anything to report.”

He raised his hat and turned away, and June dived across the road, perilously near to a motor-omnibus, clutching her samples jealously to her heart.

“It’ll be all right now,” she told herself, with a sense of comfort. “Everything’s always all right as soon as Micky gets hold of it.”

A soliloquy which made it seem all the more curious that she should have hesitated to trust herself to him for life. Perhaps, as she had told Esther, she cared too much for him to take the risk for them both. He had told her candidly that he did not care for her as a man should care for the woman he marries.

“And he makes a ripping friend! Ripping!” she told herself as she scurried along to interview another beauty specialist about the “swindle,” as Micky politely called it.