“I’ve decided to accept Mrs. Ashton’s offer,” said Esther suddenly.

It was the following afternoon, and she had been helping June paste labels on to the little mauve pots. She looked up as she spoke, with the paste brush still in her hand and her fingers all sticky.

“Did you hear what I said?” she demanded guiltily.

“Yes, I heard,” June said rather tartly. “And I think you’re a mean pig. However, go on! Have your own way! Don’t mind me.”

“It isn’t that at all,” Esther declared. “But I must do something––I’ve been idle quite long enough. I shall be sorry to leave you, but I shall still pay for my half of the room.”

“Thank you––thank you very much,” said June drily. Esther flushed in distress.

“Don’t be so unkind! It’s not that I want to leave you. I’ve been happier here with you than anywhere else, but I must work, I can’t live on nothing....”

“You could live on three pounds a week if you wished to. What do you suppose the phantom lover will say if he knows that his money hasn’t helped you, and that you’re going to make a drudge of yourself?”

“I shan’t be a drudge––I–––”

June broke in impatiently.

“Oh, very well––I don’t want to argue, but I think it’s mean of you. If you really liked me you’d stay....”

“I shall come to see you whenever I get any time off.”

“Yes, once a week for two hours, I suppose––and when I shall probably be out.”

“I shall write first and let you know when I’m coming.”

June took no notice; she screwed the lid on to a perfume bottle and wiped her fingers on the white overall.

“You needn’t put any more labels on,” she said shortly. “I can do the rest myself.”

She took the tray away from Esther and carried it into her bedroom; when she came back there was a suspicion of tears in her eyes. Esther looked distressed. She felt that she was behaving meanly, and yet she meant to go to Mrs. Ashton’s.

“Micky Mellowes is coming directly,” June said tartly. “If you don’t want to see him you’d better go. I know you hate him....”

Esther turned scarlet. She took off the apron she had borrowed from June and turned to the door.

Before she reached it June followed.

“I’m a pig. I apologise humbly! Please stay. Why don’t you box my ears when I speak to you like this?” She dragged Esther back to the fire. “I’m wild because you’ve made up your mind to leave me. Our friendship doesn’t mean anything to you.... There’s Micky––he’ll want to know why I’ve been crying. Amuse him for five minutes, there’s an angel, and I’ll come back.”

She was gone in a flash.

A smiling Lydia showed Micky into the room. Lydia liked Micky; he was always courteous, and he had been generous with his tips on each occasion that he had visited the house.

Micky looked a little embarrassed when he saw Esther. He glanced quickly round the room. “June ... I–––”

“She’s coming in a moment,” Esther explained. “Won’t you sit down?”

Micky sat on the arm of the big chair; he was cold; he leaned forward, rubbing his hands vigorously. Esther watched him critically.

She had told June that she did not consider him in the least good-looking, but now the thought crossed her mind that this had not been quite a fair thing.

He was tall and well made, and he had brown hair that grew well about his temples, and waved slightly where it parted.

His nose was nothing particular and slightly crooked, and his eyes were nondescript in colour, but kind ... so kind! Esther remembered it was the first thing she had noticed about him the night they met.

He looked up.

“Well,” he said, “have you found another berth yet?”

“I’m going to Mrs. Ashton’s,” Esther said.

She was amazed at the sudden change in his face; a look of furious anger flashed into his eyes; he rose to his feet.

“You’re not serious?” he said quietly.

Esther laughed; she felt painfully nervous without knowing why.

“Serious? Indeed I am!” she answered. “Mr. Mellowes, what are you doing?...”

Micky had caught her hands. Jealousy was driving him with whips of fire––jealousy of this phantom lover, whom he himself had created.

“You’re not to go,” he said hoarsely. “I––I––I can’t bear to think of you having to work for your living. There’s no need––it’s all nonsense. You’d hate being at the Ashtons.... Esther–––”

She wrenched herself free; she was white to the lips.

“You must be mad!” she said. “How dare you speak like this? What is it to you what I do? How dare you try to interfere? What business is it of yours?”

Micky laughed shakily; he had recovered himself a little now.

“It’s everything to me,” he said rather hoarsely. “You must know that it is. Esther, will you marry me?”

If only premeditated proposals were made, there would be few marriages in the world. Ten minutes ago, when Micky Mellowes walked into the room, he had no intention of asking Esther to marry him, but now it seemed 118 as if he had come for that express purpose as he stood there, grimly obstinate.

There was a moment of silence; then Esther drew herself up.

“I think you must be mad,” she said. “I’ve only seen you once or twice in my life. I have told you that I am already engaged.”

“I know, but it makes no difference,” said Micky. “I ask you to marry me––will you marry me?”

She drew back from him.

“You must be mad.”

Micky laughed. “You’ve said that two or three times already, but I assure you that I’m quite sane. I loved you the first moment I ever saw you, but, of course, you won’t believe it. However, that doesn’t matter––you haven’t answered my question. Will you marry me?”

“You know I am engaged––how dare you?...” She backed away from him till she was close to the door. Micky laughed savagely.

“You needn’t be afraid––I’m not going to hurt you––I’m not going to move from this hearthrug, but I should like you to answer my question. Once again, will you marry me?”

“No–––”

He forgot his promise and took a step towards her.

“I can make you happier than any other man possibly could. I’ve never cared for a woman in my life till I met you....”

“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the only man in the world––I––I don’t even like you....” Her voice shook with anger now. “My answer is no––no––no! I shall never change my mind if I live to be a hundred ...” she added vehemently. The words seemed forced from her by something in his eyes.

“You will,” said Micky calmly, though he felt anything but calm. “Women always do; but if you don’t feel like changing it just at this moment, will you please tell June I am here? I came to see her, and I’m tired of waiting....” 119 He turned away and went back to his seat on the arm of the big chair as if nothing had happened, but his hand shook when he tried to light a cigarette.

When June came back he was absently turning the pages of a magazine; she looked at him for a moment, then began to laugh.

“Micky! What in the world has happened to you lately? Do you always read a paper upside down?”

Micky started, looked down at the magazine, and said a bad word; then he laughed too, and flinging the magazine across the room got to his feet, stretching his long arms.

“Where’s Esther?” June demanded. “I asked her to stay and amuse you till I came back....”

“She did her best,” said Micky drily. “But I am afraid I bored her.”

June looked annoyed.

“I do think you two might try and like one another, if only for my sake,” she said. “It’s so perfectly obvious that you hate one another, and I cannot see why for the life of me.”

“One of your instinctive hates, perhaps,” Micky submitted, with a touch of irony. He went back to the chair.

“Miss Shepstone tells me she has found a berth,” he said, after a moment. June nodded.

“Yes. Did she tell you with whom?”

“Yes; Mrs. Ashton.”

Something in the tone of his voice made June look up quickly.

“Well?” she said.

Micky shrugged his shoulders.

“Nothing––I dared to suggest that perhaps she would not like the place, and she flew at me.”

June laughed.

“That’s just like Esther; she asks for your advice, and then–––”

“She didn’t ask for mine,” Micky cut in. “I very kindly volunteered the information.”

“Oh!” June was on her knees now toasting buns.

“They’re stale,” she informed Micky candidly. “But you won’t know it when they’re toasted.”

Micky watched in silence. He was wondering if June had heard anything of his conversation with Esther; they had both spoken rather loudly. He was also wondering whether he should tell June the whole story.

“You must make allowances for her,” June said briskly, as he was still hesitating. “I know she’s worried about this man. I discovered another thing this morning, Micky”––she turned with a sudden jerk to look at him, and the bun fell off the fork into the fire.

Micky laughed.

“Well, what have you discovered now?” he inquired.

“Why, that she can’t write to him––he doesn’t give her an address––or, if he does, he takes good care to move on before she has time to answer his letters. It looks to me, Micky, as if that young man is shirking his responsibilities. If you ask my candid opinion, Esther won’t ever see him again.”

Micky said “Rot!” rather uncomfortably. “If the fellow is travelling––moving about....”

“He could give her an address and have the letters sent on, couldn’t he?” June demanded.

Micky rubbed his chin.

“What’s she want to write to him for?” he asked presently.

June swung round, and a second bun almost shared the fate of the first, but she grabbed it back in time.

“What does she want to write to him for?” she echoed with scorn. “My poor child, what does any one want to write to any one for? She’s in love with the man, and when you’re in love you simply have to write it down––at least, that’s what I understand from people with wide experience. Esther’s bursting to write and tell the phantom lover how much she loves him and what a wonderful man he is; as a matter of fact she does write to him, and tears the letters up again, and that’s no satisfaction. 121 I wish to goodness he’d get run over and done with,” she added exasperatedly.

“I don’t suppose she wishes it,” said Micky.

“That’s because she doesn’t know what’s good for her; he was probably the first man who had ever paid her any attention, and from what she says he’s a bit of a swell, and I suppose she was flattered....”

“Rot!” said Micky violently; it made him boil to hear June say things like this. Ashton superior to Esther? It was like the man’s confounded impudence to even think such a thing.

“Not such rot,” June said wisely. “And that’s what all the trouble is about, or my name’s not what it is. He has a stuck-up old cat of a mother who won’t condescend to know Esther.... What did you say?”

“Nothing,” said Micky. He got up and began strolling about the room with his hands in his pockets, and June finished toasting her buns and made the tea.

“I’ll just go up and tell Esther,” she said. She went out of the room and upstairs.

“Tea,” she announced cheerfully, knocking at Esther’s door; she turned the handle and went in. Esther was standing by the window looking out into the neglected garden at the back of the house; she turned.

“I’m not really hungry, and if you’d like to have Mr. Mellowes to yourself–––” she began.

June stared at her.

“My dear,” she said then drily, “if I’d wanted to have Mr. Mellowes to myself I should have married him long ago; so don’t pretend you’re not dying for one of the stale but toasted buns.”

She linked her arm in Esther’s, and they went downstairs together. Esther did not want to come, but it seemed easier to give way than to make excuses. She took the chair which Micky brought forward; she felt a little nervous and ill at ease. Once, when their eyes met, she found herself colouring sensitively.

Micky let her alone in a marked fashion and talked to 122 June. He had found the man he had been looking for for months, he declared, a good business man, honest–––

“Really honest, Micky?” June asked, laughing.

“Really honest,” Micky maintained. “Do you think I’d put you on to him else? I’ve told him all about you. I went out to lunch with him yesterday and we talked face creams and vanities till my head reeled. He’s full of ideas, bursting with fresh notions for advertising. He didn’t say so in actual words, but he thinks you’ll be a little gold mine if you’ll put yourself in his hands.”

June’s eyes sparkled; she jumped up from her chair, put her arms around Micky’s neck, and gave him a sounding kiss.

“You’re a dear,” she said, “and I just love you!”

Esther glanced up quickly. June need not have done that, she thought with a touch of irritation, but Micky only laughed.

“Come here and you shall have that back with compound interest,” he said, but June shook her head.

“That’s enough for to-day, and Esther’s looking shocked to death.”

“I’m not––I never thought about it,” Esther protested indignantly. June laughed.

“Well, you looked angry anyway,” she declared. “Didn’t she, Micky?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t notice,” he answered coolly, but he had, and for a moment his pulses had leapt at sight of the anger in Esther’s eyes; she could not surely hate him as much as she pretended if it annoyed her that June should kiss him.

But she was indifferent enough now at all events; she was leaning back listlessly, her eyes fixed on the flames, her face sad and thoughtful.

She was thinking about Ashton, Micky told himself savagely, wishing he were here, no doubt––Ashton, who even at that moment was probably running round Paris with Tubby Clare’s little widow.

June was packing the tea things on to the tray and humming a snatch of song. Esther rose.

“Let me do that––you cleared away yesterday.”

She took the tray.

June asked Micky for a cigarette.

“I’ve got heaps somewhere,” she said vaguely. “But I never know where they are.” She looked over to Esther. “Don’t bother to put the cups away now,” she said. “Come back and be cosy.”

She was rather surprised that Esther obeyed; she had quite expected her to go off and not return.

Fond as she was of Esther, she could not quite make her out; she was full of surprises. It was getting dusk, and the room was full of shadows.

“Shall I light up?” Micky asked. “Or do we like the firelight?”

“We like the firelight,” June said promptly; she nestled down amongst her mauve cushions.

Micky was sitting straddle-ways across a chair between the two girls, and Esther had drawn back a little so that her face was in shadow. Micky glanced at her once, but could only see the glint of firelight on her hair and her hands clasped listlessly in the lap of her frock. He glanced at them; she still wore Ashton’s ring, with its three inferior stones; he wondered how long the farce was going to be kept up and what would happen to bring it to an end.

“If some one doesn’t talk,” June said drowsily, “I shall go to sleep.”

There was a quiet peacefulness in the cosy little room. Micky crossed his arms on the chair back and leaned his chin on them, staring into the fire, and Esther, from her place in the shadows, looked at him unobserved.

Not in the least good-looking, she told herself again, and yet in common fairness she had to admit to herself that there was something about Micky Mellowes that was undeniably attractive.

She liked the obstinacy of his chin––she liked the way his hair grew, and the shape of his hands––strong, manly hands they were, in spite of the fact that they had probably never done a day’s useful work in their lives. Of course he was too well dressed. To begin with, there was no need to wear grey spats over his shoes, or to have his trousers so immaculately creased. She forgot that she had liked Ashton to indulge in both these weaknesses.

Micky was whistling a snatch of a love-song under his breath. Esther did not know what it was; she had never heard the melody before, but something in the softly sentimental notes brought the tears to her eyes; before she was aware of it they were tumbling down fast.

June sprang suddenly to her feet.

“Why are we all mooning like this? Micky, give me a match.” She almost snatched the box from him and lit the gas; the yellow flare flooded the room. Micky, glancing at Esther, saw the tears on her cheeks and the way she averted her head.

He scowled and rose to his feet, standing so that his tall figure shielded her.

“Well, I must be getting along,” he said. He pulled out his watch and looked at it, but he never noticed what the time was.

He was thinking of Esther and the tears he had surprised.

“And when are you going to introduce me to this man who is to make my fortune?” June demanded crisply. She was standing on a footstool, trying to see herself in a glass above the mantelshelf.

“Esther, you might have told me what a sight I look! My hair is all over the place.”

“I thought it looked nice,” Esther said hurriedly. She knew Micky had seen her tears, and was silently hating him for it.

Micky answered hesitatingly, “I’ll let you know––I’ll fix it up and let you know. There’s no hurry, is there? I don’t want him to think we are too keen.”

“But I am keen,” June insisted. “Wouldn’t you be keen if some one had told you you would be a gold mine, properly handled?” she laughed. “Oh, I forgot! money is no object to you. Well, bide your own time, my dear, but don’t let it be too long.... Must you really go?”

“I’m afraid so; and, June–––”

“Um!” said June, intent on another cigarette.

Micky fidgeted. He looked down at the carpet.

“If you don’t hear anything of me for a few days you’ll know I’m out of London....” He looked at Esther, but she was kneeling down by the fire stroking Charlie.

“Out of London!” June said in surprise. “Where are you going?”

Micky cleared his throat.

“I thought of running over to Paris for a day or two,” he said.

“Paris!” They were both looking at him now. Micky was painfully aware of the eagerness in Esther’s face.

“Yes; I haven’t been since September. Anything I can do for you while I’m there?”

June raised her brows comically.

“Not for me, but perhaps Esther ... Esther has a great friend over there, haven’t you, my child?”

Esther turned crimson from chin to brow.

“Mr. Mellowes is not at all likely to meet any friend of mine,” she said stiffly.

Micky felt horribly sorry for her.

“Don’t be too sure, Miss Shepstone,” he said lightly. “It’s a small world, you know, and it’s the most unexpected things that happen.”

But Esther seemed not to have heard.