Micky went straight home when he left June. What he had heard about Esther had disturbed him very much. He loathed to think that she was unhappy.

The question was, how best to help her, and quickly. He was thankful she had made a friend of June. June was one of the best, the loyalest pal a man could ever have.

But, as June had said, Esther was too proud to take help unless it was most tactfully offered. He racked his brains in vain. It was a sickening thought that, with all his wealth, he could give her nothing. Even the few paltry pounds she had unconsciously taken from him would have been indignantly rejected had she known who was the donor.

With sudden impulse he sat down and wrote to her. After all, she had accepted his friendship; there was no reason on earth why he should not write and ask to be allowed to see her again. He wrote most carefully lest she should discover some likeness to the letter he had written to replace Ashton’s.

Might he take her out to dinner one night? Any night would suit him. And did she like theatres? He had a friend who sometimes gave him a couple of seats for a show. He would arrange for any night she liked to mention.

He thought that was a neat stroke of diplomacy––of course, she would not think he could afford to buy seats, and anyway it was true that he had a friend who often gave him boxes and things––he would have to be careful that Phillips did not send along a box this time though.

He ended up by hoping formally that she and Charlie 72 were quite well and comfortably settled into their new home, and he signed himself: “Yours very sincerely, Micky Mellowes.”

When he had finished the letter, he realised that he had written it on his own heavily embossed writing paper, so he had to dig Driver up and borrow a cheap sheet of unstamped grey paper and write it all out again. Then he went out and posted it himself.

As soon as it had gone he wished he had sent it by hand; it meant such a deuce of a time to wait for a reply; he calculated that he could not possibly hear before to-morrow night.

But in this he was pleasantly disappointed, for his own letter reached the boarding-house in Elphinstone Road that night, and Esther’s reply was waiting for him with the kidney and bacon in the morning.

Micky’s heart began to thump when he saw the letter beside his plate; he had never seen Esther’s handwriting, but he knew by instinct that it was hers. He scanned the first lines eagerly, and his face fell.

“Dear Mr. Mellowes,––Thank you for your letter. I am sorry, but I cannot come out with you, either to dinner or to a theatre.––

Yours very truly, Esther Shepstone.”

Micky’s face was pathetic in its disappointment. He read the few curt lines through again and again, vainly trying to find something more behind the unmistakable refusal, but there it was in all its bald decision.

She did not want to go out with him any more; she did not care if she saw him again or not.

Micky left his breakfast, he no longer had any appetite. He had never had such a snub in all his life––out of his disappointment anger was rising steadily; she had no right to snub him like that without a reason.

Driver, coming into the room at that moment, saw the untouched breakfast and halted midway between door and table to stare at his master.

Micky stood with his hands deep thrust into his pockets, glowering into the fire. Driver advanced a step.

“Beg pardon, sir––but wasn’t you well?” he asked stoically.

Micky began to swear, then his mood changed and he laughed.

“Yes, I’m all right–––” He hesitated. “Driver, would you like to go to Paris?”

Driver raised wooden eyes.

“Anywhere you wish, sir,” he answered, in his usual expressionless voice. “When were you thinking of starting, sir?”

“I’m not thinking of starting at all,” said Micky. “I want you to go––alone! You’ve been often enough now not to get lost. Do you think you can manage it?”

“Yes, sir, if you think you can manage without me here.”

There was the faintest touch of amazement in the man’s even voice; he knew how helpless Micky was, or pretended to be––knew how he hated being left to do for himself.

But Micky only laughed.

“Oh, I can manage all right. I shall probably go away somewhere myself for a few days. Besides, you won’t be gone long–––” He paused.

“No, sir,” said Driver.

Micky was leaning against the mantelshelf; his eyes were all crinkled up into a laugh as if he had heard some excellent joke which he was about to repeat.

“No, you won’t be gone long,” he said again. “A couple of days, I should think. You can put up at the hotel we stayed at last time; they’ll look after you, and the manager speaks English.”

“Yes, sir–––” Driver hesitated. “And––what were you wanting me to do when I get there, sir?” he asked, after a moment.

Micky clung to his joke for an instant longer, then suddenly he let it go.

“I want you to post a letter for me,” he said.

Driver was too well trained to show amazement at Micky’s instructions, but just for a fractional second he forgot to answer with his usual “Yes, sir,” and stood immovable. Then he recovered himself, and said it twice with hurried apology.

“And am I to go at once, sir?”

“To-morrow morning will do,” Micky said. “You can go by the first boat train.” He looked at the man anxiously. He had a sort of uncomfortable feeling that Driver must be thinking he was not quite right in the head. After a moment he dismissed him.

Then Micky went over to his desk and rummaged amongst the many papers and letters there till he found a sheet of paper embossed with the name of an hotel in Paris. It had not been used, and Micky heaved a sigh of relief.

He went to bed late that night. He forgot all about his promise to go round to the Delands. He spent the time writing letters and tearing them up again till the wastepaper basket was full; then he carried it over to the fireplace and burnt every scrap of paper it contained.

There were two finished letters lying on his desk. One was sealed and addressed, but not stamped, and the other was written on a sheet of Driver’s plain notepaper, which Micky folded and unfolded with a sort of nervous dissatisfaction.

Its contents were not very long, but they had taken a good deal of composing.

“Dear Miss Shepstone,––I received your note in reply to my letter and cannot help saying that I feel very hurt at your decided refusal to allow me to take you out. I thought we were to be friends? Have I been so unfortunate as to offend you? If so, I can only assure you that it has been utterly unintentional. Won’t you let me see you, if only for a moment? I will meet you at any time or place.–– Yours sincerely, MICKEY MELLOWES.”

He gave a dissatisfied growl as he finished reading it. 75 Not a very eloquent epistle. There was so much more which he wanted to say, but did not dare to. He folded it again and thrust it into an envelope; then he addressed it and laid it beside that other on his desk, comparing the two handwritings with complacence.

Not in the least alike! Nobody would ever suspect that they had been written by the same person.

He rang for Driver and gave him the unstamped envelope. “This is what I want you to post in Paris. Mind you put enough stamps on. You’d better have it weighed.”

“Yes, sir.” Driver looked at the other letter. “And––is that for the post too, sir?”

Micky put his hand behind him with a guilty gesture.

“No; I’ll post that myself,” he said, and he went out then and there into the cold night and did so.

As it dropped into the letter-box Micky looked up at the stars and sighed.

What the dickens could he have done to make her so distant? At any rate he would let her see that he was not to be so easily snubbed. If she didn’t answer his letter he would go boldly round to Elphinstone Road, and stay there till he saw her.

He was half way to bed before he remembered that he had promised to go to the Delands that evening. He stopped short with his necktie half undone and swore.

What the deuce would they think of him?

Well, he would have to plead that headache still, that was all, and if Marie chose to cut up rough.... Micky felt mean because he rather hoped that she would. He knew that he wanted their friendship to cease, but, man-like, he did not altogether like having to take the initiative. Marie was a nice little girl, and if it hadn’t been for that relative of hers dying on New Year’s Eve––well, he would probably have been engaged to her by this time.

He went to bed feeling miserable.

Driver had just left the house to catch the boat train the following morning when June Mason rang Micky up.

“Any news for me?” she demanded. “I hate worrying you so soon, but Esther’s given notice. She’s told Mrs. Elders that she can’t afford to stay on. I nearly shook her this morning. I asked her to let me help her for the time being. I even said that I would take five per cent. interest on the hateful money if she was so abominably proud, and she laughed! She cried the next minute and said I was much too kind to her, but she wouldn’t listen. What have you done?”

“Everything,” said Micky promptly. “In a couple of days––”

“My good man, that’s much too long to wait.”

“It’s the best I can do,” said Micky rather shortly. “And you’ll find it’s a good best if you’ll be patient.”

He heard the sigh she gave.

“Honest Injun!” he said seriously.

“Oh, very well. If you let me down, Micky–––”

“You won’t be let down,” Micky said.

June went back to Elphinstone Road with a heavy heart.

She was very thorough in her friendships, and it really seemed a terrible thing to her that Esther would not accept help.

She felt so genuinely fond of the girl herself that she could not understand the feeling of affection and confidence not being reciprocated; she went up to her room and tucked herself into the big armchair amongst the mauve cushions and smoked innumerable cigarettes. Charlie was asleep by the fire; he found his way upstairs now without invitation; he was beginning to get quite respectable-looking; he had lost his wild, scared look, and even his purr had taken on a sleekier, smoother sound.

June stared at him for some time, then suddenly she got up and went downstairs.

She knocked at Esther’s door, but there was no answer, and she went back to her own room dejectedly.

If only Esther were not so proud they might have such good times together! If only Esther had a little money 77 and could go shares with this room; but what was the good of wishing? She hurled one of the mauve cushions across the room, and after that she felt better.

She went down to lunch because she hoped Esther would be there, but she was not. The long room was rather empty, and June ate her cold meat and pudding hurriedly and went back upstairs.

It was getting dusk when she heard Esther come in; she waited eagerly, but the footsteps did not come on to her door. June threw another cushion across the room to keep the other company; it was her chief vent for anger or irritation.

“Confounded pride,” she said under her breath. She paced up and down for some minutes, then she caught Charlie up from his cushion and went downstairs to Esther’s room with him in her arms.

Her knock was answered immediately and Esther stood there in the doorway.

June spoke without looking at her.

“I’ve brought Charlie down––I thought if he stayed up in my room any longer you’d be wanting to pay me for his board and lodging.”

She thrust the cat into Esther’s arms and turned away.

She was feeling very sore; hers was such a generous nature that she could not understand why Esther could not see how glad she would have been to help her; she went back to her own room and slammed the door.

A moment later she was sorry for what she had done; twice she went half way down the stairs to apologise, then came back again.

“Do her good,” she told herself snappishly. “I’ve no patience with such silly pride, and as for you, my boy,” she stopped and shook her fist at Micky’s photograph, “if you don’t buck up and find her something....”

The two days dragged away. June purposely avoided Esther; she never went into the dining-room to meals, and Esther never came upstairs to June’s room; there was a kind of armed neutrality between them.

Charlie, too, seemed to have been told to keep away, and June missed his lusty purr in the silent room.

She shed a few tears into the mauve cushions; she thought Esther was wilfully misunderstanding her; she wrote to Micky on the second day with a great deal of emphasis.

“Are you dead or asleep? Here am I, just living to hear from you, and you leave me without a word! Esther and I haven’t spoken for two days, not that you care, of course. You don’t believe in my friendships, I know, but it’s a very serious thing for me. I’m more fond of that girl than I’ve ever been of anybody, and now she’ll walk out of this house and my life, and it will be your fault....”

She knew this was unfair to Micky, but she knew that Micky would understand––Micky always understood.

But Micky frowned over the letter. Did she imagine he enjoyed sitting down here doing nothing? What pleasure did she suppose he was getting out of the whole thing?

He threw the letter into the fire. Something ought to happen to-morrow, anyway. The last two days had seemed like months.

To kill time he went round to the Delands. He felt a little nervous as he reached the house. It seemed an unconscionable time since he was last here. When the butler opened the door he felt an insane desire to say, “Good evening, Jessop! You’re still here, then.” Such a decade ago it seemed since Jessop had been wont to admit him without question and take his hat and coat.

But Jessop did not smile to-night, and did not move back an inch when he saw who was the caller.

Micky was nonplussed.

“Er––anybody in?” he asked awkwardly.

“No, sir; the mistress and the young ladies are all out, sir....”

“Oh!” There was a little silence; then Micky turned on his heel. “Well, good-night!” he said jerkily.

He walked away, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed. A few yards down the road he almost cannoned into a man he knew.

“Hullo, Philips! Where are you off to?”

Philips stopped.

“Hullo, Micky! Not coming my way? I’m going to the Delands. What’s up with you? Haven’t seen you for a week or more.”

“I’ve been seedy,” Micky said hurriedly. “And the Delands are out. I’ve just called there myself.”

“Eh?” Philips tried hard to see his face through the darkness. “Rot,” he said at last. “They’ve got a musical evening on––I had a special invite.”

Micky said nothing. This was a nasty blow; apparently the Delands were only “not at home” to him. Jove! he must have behaved caddishly. He walked on feeling very subdued. Had he quite lost his wits, he wondered, that for the sake of a girl who would have none of him he was willing to offend all his old friends? He tried to look at his behaviour from Marie Deland’s point of view. Yes, it must look pretty rotten, he was forced to admit.

He thought about it all the time he walked home. He asked himself honestly if this new game was worth the candle.

Esther loved another man.

Already she had shown him that she cared nothing for him or his friendship, and yet––yet––– Micky set his teeth. He had never wanted anything really badly in all his life before, but now he wanted this girl.

“I’m not done yet, anyway,” he told himself. “After all––let the best man win.”

He felt that he had decided a question of great importance as he went back to his rooms; it was a pleasant surprise to find Driver there; Micky beamed.

“You’ve got back, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man took Micky’s hat and coat, and turned to go.

Micky stared.

“Everything all right?” he asked, with a touch of anxiety.

“Yes, sir.”

“You posted the letter?”

“Yes, sir, and had it weighed....” There was a little pause.

“Is that all?” Micky asked. “Nothing else happened?”

The man raised his expressionless eyes.

“I should have got in this morning, sir, but we had a rough crossing, and I was ill–––”

Micky smiled.

“Poor old Driver!––anything else?”

“Yes, sir––I met Mr. Ashton in Paris. He seemed very surprised to see me there without you, sir.”

Micky’s face changed; he had not counted on this.

“Good Lord!” he said. “You didn’t tell him you–––?”

Driver raised his eyes.

“I never tell anybody anything, sir,” he said woodenly.

Micky breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good man.... He was alone, of course?”

“Alone at the hotel, but I saw him out driving twice with the same lady, sir.”

“You saw him out twice––driving with the same lady?” Micky echoed the man’s words vaguely. “All right––you can go.”

“Thank you, sir.” Driver departed, closing the door noiselessly.

Ashton had soon found consolation, Micky thought savagely. He wondered what Esther would say if she could know. What was Driver thinking about it all? Driver was safe as the Bank of England; but, all the same, it was not altogether pleasant to feel that he had had to give himself away to his valet.

He looked up at the clock. Past nine! So there would not be another post in to-night.

Esther had not answered his note, and two whole days had elapsed.

Micky began pacing the room. Why had she so suddenly thrown him over, he wondered miserably.

He could not imagine what he had done to offend her.

He hardly knew how the days had passed since New Year’s Eve. He had not visited any of his old haunts or seen any of his friends. It almost seemed as if he had opened the book of a new life and forgotten about the old.

She might have answered his letter. Dash it all! he wasn’t just a bounder who had spoken to her for his own amusement. He kicked a hassock out of his way and went to bed.

If he didn’t hear in the morning, he would risk it and go round to see her. At the worst she could only have the door shut in his face....

“And even then–––” he told his reflection in the mirror fiercely, as he struggled with a stud. “Even then I’m not done––and I’ll show her that I’m not....”

---

June Mason was mixing perfume the following morning when a little knock came at her door.

She looked up from her work and listened; after a second she resumed her occupation briskly.

“Come in,” she said.

She did not raise her eyes when the door opened, though she knew quite well who had entered the room, and for a second Esther Shepstone stood on the threshold hesitatingly, then she spoke.

“May I come in?”

June Mason looked up with an exaggerated start; she was a picturesque figure at that moment in a big white overall, and with a scarf of her favourite mauve tied over her dark head.

She held a little phial in either hand, and there was a delicious faint smell of rose perfume in the room.

“You!” she said. “Gracious! I thought you were dead and buried long enough ago. Oh yes, come in.... 82 You don’t mind me going on with my work, do you? I’m up to my eyes in it.... Sit down.”

But Esther stood where she was, the eagerness died out of her pretty face.

“I won’t stay if you’re busy,” she said. “I’ll come another time, but–––” she hesitated. Across the room the eyes of the two girls met, and June Mason promptly put down the two little phials.

“Come in and apologise, and so will I,” she said heartily. “There!” She reached up––Esther was taller than she––and gave the younger girl a sounding kiss. “There! I don’t often kiss people, so you can consider yourself flattered.” She dragged forward a chair and pushed Esther into it. “Now, what do you want, and where’s that Charlie? You’ve no idea how I’ve missed him. No––you stay there, and I’ll go and fetch him up.”

She darted off, and returned a moment later with Charlie in her arms. There were yards of mauve ribbon lying on the table and she cut off a length and tied it in a bow round his neck; then she kissed his head and dropped him on to his cushion. “There! Now, we’re quite at home again,” she said. “And now, fire away and tell me why you’re here.”

She packed all the dishes and boxes on to a tray, put them out of sight behind a screen and came back to the fire.

“Do you like this perfume? It’s something new! I’m trying to blend it with white rose. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“Beautiful!” said Esther. She consented to have her chin dabbed. “What are you making now?” she asked.

Miss Mason chuckled.

“Oh, I’m only experimising, as Micky calls it,” she said lightly. “We don’t want to talk shop. You’ve got some news; I can see by your face that you have.”

Esther laughed and flushed.

“Oh, I have,” she said tremulously. “Such wonderful news.”

“Humph!” said June drily. “From the young man, of 83 course? Well, is he on his way home, and have you got to get a wedding dress in the next five minutes or something?”

“Oh no, it isn’t anything like that,” said Esther. There was a shade of regret in her voice. “But he’s in Paris––he says he’s not staying there, but he had to pay a business call.”

June gave a rather unladylike sniff, but Esther was too engrossed to notice.

“He seems to have been very lucky,” she went on. “He hadn’t got very much money when he went away, but he’s got some appointment now; he does not say what and....”––she gave a little excited laugh––“he says that he’s going to send me £3 a week for as long as he is away.... Isn’t it wonderfully good of him? I suppose I ought not to take it, but he says that if things had turned out as he hoped, we should have been married, and so ... you don’t think it’s wrong of me to take it, do you?” she asked anxiously.

June rose to her feet. She looked chagrined; she had been so sure that this man was a rotter, that it was a bit of a set-back to hear this news.

“You take it, my dear, and don’t be a goose,” she said promptly. “As he says, if you were his wife you’d take it, and as you’re going to be married, it’s quite the right thing if he’s well off that he should help you! I hope you won’t let your silly pride make you send it back; you’d only hurt his feelings.”

“I wouldn’t do that for anything,” Esther said quickly. “But it’s such a lot of money.”

“Rubbish!” said June. “Why, Micky Mellowes wouldn’t even stop to pick it up if he dropped it in the road.”

“We are not all millionaires like Mr. Mellowes,” Esther said sharply. “And he ought to be ashamed of himself if he really wouldn’t stop to pick it up.”

June laughed.

“Don’t you take things so literally, my dear,” she said. 84 “I know you don’t like Micky, though you’ve never seen him, but I’m going to ask him here to tea one day, if he’ll come–––”

“I don’t suppose he will,” said Esther. “Elphinstone Road wouldn’t be good enough for him, would it?”

June frowned.

“I don’t like to hear you talk like that about Micky! It’s not fair, when you don’t know him. I tell you he’s one of the best––and, anyway, as he’s a friend of mine–––”

Esther flushed.

“I’m sorry––I’d no right to have said anything about him at all; please forgive me.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” June said laconically. “But he isn’t a bit of a snob; he’d do anything in the world for anybody.”

Esther glanced up at his portrait on the shelf. She felt a trifle ashamed of what she had said; after all, Micky had been good to her in his own way, even if his own way had been patronising.

“And so I shall stay on here,” she said, after a moment. “And if you think you would still like me to share this room–––”

June pounced upon her.

“You darling! It’s too good to be true. Of course, I should love it! I’ll go and tell old Mother Elders straight away; it will put her in a good temper for a month.”

“She’s out,” Esther said quickly. “I went to tell her myself as soon as I got my letter.... It only came this morning.” She coloured sensitively beneath June’s quizzical eyes.

“And of course you’ve been devouring it ever since,” June said. “Well, and very nice too! There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ll admit that I didn’t think somehow that he could be a very nice sort of person, this young man of yours. No, I don’t know why I thought so––just an idea of mine. I get hold of ideas like that. But 85 I’ve changed my mind now; I’m sure he’s a dear, or you’d never look so happy.”

“I should love you to see him,” Esther said with enthusiasm. “I’m sure you would like him. I don’t know his people, of course––I suppose if they thought he cared for me they’d be angry––but it doesn’t really matter, and I know he doesn’t care at all for his mother....”

June looked up from stroking Charlie.

“Now, I wish you hadn’t said that,” she said frankly. “No man can be really nice who doesn’t love his own mother.”

Esther looked distressed.

“But she’s horrid!” she said eagerly. “He has told me how horrid she is to him––really she is––and as he’s her only son–––” She stopped. “After all,” she went on, “there’s no law to make you like a woman just because you happen to be her son, is there?”

“It’s unnatural not to,” June answered shortly. “However, as neither of us know his mother, we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. She may be a perfect old cat. Some women are.”

She wandered round the room to find a cigarette, and Esther sat looking into the fire.

She could not remember her own mother. But somehow she felt sure that, had she been living, she would have adored her.

She had never heard Raymond say anything nice of Mrs. Ashton––he had always spoken about her in a bitter, half sneering way.

She looked across to June timidly.

“Do you always judge people by what you call ‘instinct’?” she asked. “When I first knew you you told me that you felt sure you would like me before ever you saw me, and–––”

“And I was right,” June said triumphantly. “I nearly always am right when I get an instinct about anything. Micky says it’s all rot!––there I am, talking about him 86 again––it’s a habit, so don’t notice it! But even he has to admit how often I am right; I could give you dozens of instances.”

Esther did not pursue the subject; she was remembering how June had said that she had an “instinct” that Raymond was not nice.

“I think you’re the most original person I’ve ever met,” she said with a little smile.

June laughed.

“Eccentric, Micky says I am–––” she answered, then broke off with a comical look of despair. “You really must excuse me for everlastingly dragging him in,” she apologised. “As I said before, it’s a habit––and there goes the dinner gong. Are we going to feed here to-day?”

Esther rose from the chair.

“I am,” she said. “And I’m hungry, so I do hope there’s something nice.”

They went down together.

“Curry,” said June, sniffing the air critically. “The colonel will be pleased; he’s always telling us how they used to make curry in India, poor old chap! Though I don’t think any of us really believe that he’s ever been there.”

But the colonel was not there.

“He’s ill,” so young Harley told the two girls as they sat down at their table. “I went up to see him this morning, and he really looks ill.”

“You don’t look in exactly rude health yourself,” said June in her blunt fashion. She noticed that Harley looked at Esther a great deal, and she made up her mind to tell him at the earliest opportunity that Esther was engaged. June scented romance everywhere.

“They are the first violets I have seen this year,” Esther was saying, looking at a little bunch the young man wore in his coat.

He took them out eagerly and laid them down beside her plate.

“Do have them, will you? I never wear flowers really, but a girl in the street begged me to buy them.”

Esther took them up eagerly.

“They are my favourite flowers,” she said. “And I haven’t had any given to me for––oh, for ever so long.”

It gave her a little pang to remember that Ashton had always brought her violets in the first days of their acquaintance. It was one of the many little attentions which he had gradually dropped.

“You’re not to let Mr. Harley fall in love with you, mind,” June said severely as they went upstairs after dinner. “He’s much too nice to be made unhappy––even by you,” she added affectionately.

Esther stared.

“Why, whatever do you mean?” she cried. “I never see him or speak to him, except at meal times.”

“I mean what I say,” June insisted. “Didn’t you see how he looked at you when you took his violets?”

Esther flushed with vexation.

“Why, what perfect nonsense!” she protested.

But June only laughed.

“Onlookers see most of the game,” she declared. “Aren’t you coming up to my room? Our room, I mean.”

“I’ve got to go out––I had an appointment at half-past two, but I’ll love to come to tea with you,” she added, seeing the disappointment in June’s face.

“Very well, then, four o’clock. But who is the appointment with? You won’t need to find a berth now. You’re a lady of leisure.”

“But I shall try all the same. I don’t mean to be lazy just because he’s so good to me. I shall save all I can. I went to an agency yesterday–––”

“They’ll rob you,” June protested. “They always do. I know what agents are,” she added darkly.

Esther laughed.

But if she had hoped great things from her call that afternoon she was disappointed. The thin, aristocratic-looking 88 person who owned the “Bureau,” as it was called, looked at her with coldly critical eyes, and said that she had no vacancies likely to suit her.

“But you told me to call,” Esther protested.

“Certainly; there might have been something,” was all the answer she received. “Call again to-morrow, if you please.”

Esther went out dispiritedly. There were so many girls of her own class and age in the bare waiting-room; she felt quite sure that they would all get berths before she had a chance.

She felt glad that she had June Mason to go back to. June was always sympathetic. She went straight upstairs to the sitting-room with the mauve cushions.

June opened the door before she had time to knock.

“I thought it was you. I heard your step. What’s the matter? You sounded dispirited as you came upstairs.”

Esther laughed.

“I believe you must have second sight, or whatever they call it. But you’re right this time; I am rather down on my luck. They haven’t anything at the agency to suit me. I–––” She stopped, looking past June into the cosy room to where a man had just risen from a chair by the fire––a tall man––who looked across at her with eyes that were half-abashed, half-defiant. Micky Mellowes.

---