Esther had spent a week indoors with a cold, and it was the longest she could ever remember. June was kindness itself, and fussed and petted and made much of her, but the days dragged.

There was only one thing to live for––the post! And though the rat-tat rang through the house three or four times a day, there was never anything for Esther.

Her own letter to Paris remained unanswered. The telegram for which she longed never came.

June watched her with a mixture of sympathy and impatience.

What was the good of putting all one’s eggs in the same basket? she asked herself crossly. What was the good of falling in love if nothing better than unhappiness ever came of it? She began to hate the phantom lover, as she called him, with increased hatred.

“I don’t think you’re strong enough to go yet, you know,” she said to Esther one afternoon when they were sitting together in the firelight. “Write and tell Mrs. Ashton you can’t come for another week, or that you can’t go at all. I do wish you would.”

Esther shook her head.

“I promised to go, and I must do something. I shall be all right by Monday. Mrs. Ashton has waited long enough as it is.”

She looked pale and ill, June thought angrily, and put it all down to “that man.”

“Has Mr. Mellowes come back from Paris yet?” Esther asked suddenly. June was faintly amazed; Esther never spoke of Micky. She answered rather dubiously that she did not know.

“I expect he’s having such a good time that he’ll stay for weeks,” she added. “I wish he would come back, I want him to get on with my business....”

“Mr. Mellowes....” announced Lydia at the door.

June scrambled to her feet with a scream of delight.

“Micky! you villain! we were just talking about you. When did you come back? Why haven’t you been before? What have you been doing?”

She dragged him over to the fire; she fussed over him and told him he was just in time for tea.

“Esther’s been indoors a week with a cold,” she explained. “No, don’t you get up, Esther. Micky won’t mind....” She pushed Esther back amongst the sofa pillows. “Poor darling! She’s really been quite ill,” she declared.

Micky said formally that he was sorry that she was not well, but that the weather was enough to kill anybody; he added that he had been in town since Sunday, but ...

“Four days, and you’ve not been to see me!” said June. “What a shame, to neglect us so!”

“I’ve been busy,” Micky defended himself; “I expected to hear you had gone to Mrs. Ashton’s,” he said to Esther.

She raised her eyes.

“No––I am going on Monday.”

“Oh,” said Micky blankly.

June had opened the door and was calling over the balusters to Lydia for hot water.

“And bring lots of it,” she said. “We’re thirsty....” She came back into the room. “The postman’s just come,” she said with a nod and a smile to Esther. “Lydia will bring our letters up if there are any.” She turned again to Micky. “Well, truant! And what have you been doing? Having a good time?”

“No, I have not,” Micky said decidedly. “Paris is not what it used to be, or I am not!” He laughed. “How’s the swindle?”

June began to answer, but stopped as Lydia came into the room. She brought a jug of hot water. June danced up to her.

“No letters? I thought I heard the postman.”

“One for Miss Shepstone,” Lydia said smilingly.

Micky looked across at Esther––her whole face was transformed as she turned eagerly with outstretched hand.

There was a moment of silence, then she gave a little sigh of utter contentment. June sniffed inelegantly––Micky looked hard into the fire; his heart was thumping; that letter ought to have been delivered yesterday, he knew; it was cursed bad luck that it should arrive while he was here.

There was a little silence in the room while Esther opened it. She seemed to have forgotten that she was not alone. Her pale cheeks were flushed and her whole face tremulous.

June was bustling about, making a great clatter with the teacups. Micky got up and began to prowl round the room; his nerves felt jumpy. Because he knew so well who had written that letter he was sure every one else must know it too. Presently June nudged him as she passed. When he looked at her she made a little grimace.

“Isn’t it awful?” she said in a stage whisper.

Micky smiled stiffly.

“Can’t I help get the tea?” he asked. “Toast some buns or something?”

“There aren’t any to toast,” she told him. “Sit down and make yourself at home. Esther!”––she raised her voice elaborately––“are you going to have any tea, my child?”

Esther had come to the end of her letter; she folded it hurriedly and put it away; she cast a quick look at Micky, but he did not see it. June was chattering away.

“So Esther is going on Monday,” she informed Micky, “and I shall be left once more to my lonesome. I’m not at all sure that I shall stay on myself,” she added. 152 “It’s been so jolly having some one to share this room with me that I’m not looking forward to my own eternal company.”

There was a little silence.

“I may not go after all,” Esther said suddenly. There was a note of nervousness in her voice. She coloured, meeting June’s amazed eyes.

June screamed.

“Not go! Well, I never!” She sat down in a heap on the hearthrug staring at Esther. “I never knew such a girl,” she complained. “Micky, I appeal to you....”

But Micky was not going to be appealed to; he was stolidly stirring his tea.

“I suppose I can change my mind if I like?” Esther said.

“Oh, it isn’t you who have changed your mind,” June cut in ironically. “It’s something that phantom lover of yours has said in his letter. Own up, now.”

“Well, and if it is?” Esther demurred. “I suppose he has a right to say what he likes, hasn’t he?” But she was laughing as she spoke; she felt wonderfully happy and light-hearted. “I believe you’re jealous,” she declared.

“Jealous, indeed!” said June indignantly. Then suddenly she sighed. “Well, perhaps I am; who knows? What does he say? or mayn’t we ask?”

Micky had stopped stirring his tea; there was a sort of intentness about his big figure.

Esther looked at him, and suddenly she stiffened.

“Never mind what he says,” she answered defensively.

June laughed.

“Oh, all right––sorry if I was inquisitive.” She deliberately turned and began talking to Micky; Esther was left to herself, but she did not mind, she had enough now to think about. The longed-for letter had come at last.

She woke from her reverie with a start when Micky rose and said he must be going.

“And don’t you be so long before you come and see me again,” June said in her downright way. “And don’t go without that sample, Micky––it will go in your pocket quite easily.” She darted off to her room to fetch it, and Micky moved a step nearer to Esther.

“You have had good news?” he said.

She looked up startled.

Micky’s eyes flamed.

“That being so, of course, it is useless for me to ask if you have changed your mind yet?” he said again.

Esther gave a stifled cry.

“Are you trying to insult me?” she asked under her breath.

He half smiled.

“I am, if it’s an insult to ask you to marry me.”

There was no time for more. June came back then with her hands full of samples, which she proceeded to stuff into Micky’s pocket.

He submitted laughingly.

“Supposing I get run over!” he said resignedly. “People will think I’ve been robbing a beauty shop.”

“It will be a fine advertisement for me, anyway,” June declared. “Can’t you see all the halfpenny papers coming out with great headlines? Tragic Death of a Young Millionaire! Pockets Stuffed with June Mason’s Skin Food!” She laughed merrily. “That would be worth something, eh, Micky?”

“Heartless woman!” he answered. He turned to Esther. “Good-bye, Miss Shepstone.”

Esther was glad that he did not offer to shake hands with her; she was glad that June went to see him off. As soon as the door had closed on them she took her letter out again; she pressed the paper to her lips.

It was worth waiting for, worth the heartache and disappointment; she closed her eyes for a moment and thought of Raymond Ashton. How she must have misjudged him in the past. It did not seem true now that they had ever quarrelled, or parted in anger; that she 154 had ever been so unhappy that she did not want to live....

June came running up the stairs; she was singing cheerily; Esther smiled as she listened ... it must be wonderful to be always as happy and light-hearted as June.

“Well, dreamer?” said June. She shut the door with a little slam and came over to where her friend sat. “A penny for your thoughts.”

She looked at Esther’s flushed face in the firelight.

“And so everything is all right after all, eh?” she asked.

Esther nodded.

“And I’m not really going to Mrs. Ashton’s after all,” she said with a sort of shamefaced delight. “Only I didn’t want to say so in front of Mr. Mellowes.... Oh, aren’t you glad?” she asked anxiously.

“My dear, of course I am!” said June heartily. “But for the life of me I can’t understand how it is that this man of yours has got such an influence over you. He’s only got to hold up his little finger and you’re on your knees. I’m beginning to think he must be a kind of wonder after all.”

Esther did not answer for a moment.

“No,” she said. “He isn’t at all wonderful, really, except to me, and––and I love him, you see,” she added shyly. “I suppose every man is wonderful to the woman who loves him.”

“Until she’s his wife,” said June tartly. “And then she thinks he’s all sorts of an idiot, and tells him so.”

But Esther was too happy to take her seriously.

“You’ve never been in love,” she said, “or you wouldn’t talk like that.”

“And I never wish to be in love, thank you,” said June. “If you and Micky are samples of objects who are in love....” She made a little grimace, screwing up her nose in disgust.

Esther coloured.

“Micky!” she said, surprised into using his Christian name. “Is he in love? How do you know he is?”

“I’m not a bat, and I haven’t known Micky years for nothing. He hasn’t been himself for a long time. I’ve seen it, though I haven’t said a word. He’s in love right enough, there can’t be any other explanation, seeing that he’s too rich to ever be in debt, and they are the only two things that ever make a man miserable,” she added.

Esther wondered if June was trying to sound her.

“I don’t know who the wretched female is,” June went on, puckering her brows. “I’ve tried to guess, but it’s no good. There was a Miss Deland he used to go about with at one time, but I know that’s all off.”

“Was he engaged to her?”

“No––not really! But her people wanted it, and Micky didn’t mind; he’d have drifted into it sure enough if something very tremendous hadn’t happened to make him change his mind. I know Micky––he’d have slipped into matrimony as easily as he gets into a taxi, unless some one had turned him away from it.” She glanced down at the letter in Esther’s lap. “Tell me what he says,” she coaxed. “Take pity on a poor creature who hasn’t a phantom lover of her own, or a real one either,” she added laughing.

Esther hesitated.

“I’m never quite sure whether you’re laughing at me or not,” she said nervously. “I know you don’t mean to, but–––”

June laid her hand on Esther’s lap.

“I laugh at every one and everything,” she said. “But it’s only my way, and doesn’t mean anything. Perhaps I’m a bit jealous––because you love this phantom lover so much better than you love me,” she added.

Esther drew the letter from its envelope.

“I’ll read you just a few little bits,” she said shyly. The blood surged into her pretty face.

June leaned back in a corner and closed her eyes. She 156 held a cigarette between her lips and puffed at it lazily. There was a little silence; then Esther said suddenly––

“I can’t. It makes me feel too self-conscious. But he just says that he doesn’t want me to go into any berth just yet. He says that he may be home very soon now....”

“Oh!” said June chagrined. “And then, of course, you’ll be married and live happily ever after....”

“Yes,” said Esther. “I hope so.”

June opened her eyes.

Charlie, curled up on his cushion, started to purr lazily. Presently June flopped down on her knees beside him and began stroking his head.

“You’ll let me have Charlie when you’re married, won’t you?” she said suddenly. “I am sure the phantom lover won’t want him.”

Esther did not answer; she hated herself for remembering that Raymond had once said he loathed cats.

“I told you how Micky went into a pond after a drowning kitten, didn’t I?” June asked reminiscently. “I should have loved him for that alone, if for nothing else....”

Esther made no comment. She moved a little, and the letter slipped from her lap to the floor.

June picked it up.

“Or is it sacrilege to touch it?” she asked teasingly. She laid it on Esther’s lap.

“Well, I couldn’t help seeing the writing,” she said, after a moment. “And, do you know, it’s awfully like Micky’s! If I hadn’t known it wasn’t his I should have declared it was,” she said rather disconnectedly.

Esther grabbed the letter up.

“Well, it isn’t his, anyway,” she said sharply.

June laughed.