Esther wrote to Mrs. Ashton that same night and told her she must regretfully decline the offered position; she gave no reason, but she permitted herself a little sigh of regret when the letter was dispatched.

She would like to have gone; she would like to have seen Raymond’s home and to have got to know his mother, but it was his wish that she should not go.

She tried to believe that she was happy in the knowledge of his love, but in her heart she knew that she was restless and dissatisfied.

“If I had something to do I should be ever so much happier,” she told June again and again, and June quite agreed.

“It must be awful, killing time,” she said. “When I think of the life I used to lead at home before I started trying to improve people’s complexions, I wonder I didn’t go mad. Nothing but silly tea-parties and scandal.... Ugh! But all the same Micky and I agreed that you wouldn’t like being at Mrs. Ashton’s.”

“Micky!” said Esther scornfully. “As if I care what he thinks....”

June looked mildly amazed.

“Oh, all right,” she said smoothly. “I suppose I may mention his name sometimes, mayn’t I?” She began to laugh. “Do you know that for once in my life I’ve been totally wrong with regard to you two? I was so sure you’d more than like each other––I even thought it quite possible that Micky might fall in love with you––you’re so exactly suited to him.”

“I’m glad you think so,” said Esther drily. “I’m sorry I can’t oblige you by agreeing.”

June said “Humph!” She yawned. “All the same,” she added after a moment, “I’m convinced that things would have been different if it hadn’t been for that phantom lover of yours; you’re so crazy about him.” There was a touch of exasperation in her voice.

Esther flushed angrily.

“It’s absurd of you to talk like this,” she said. “Mr. Mellowes is the last man on earth I should ever have looked at, even supposing Raymond....” She had spoken the name before she was aware of it; in her momentary flash of temper the secret she had so carefully guarded escaped her.

It was too late to attempt to cover what she had said; she knew by the sudden expression of June’s face that she had heard.

There was a poignant silence, then June sat up with a little jerk.

“Of course, that’s let the cat out of the bag,” she said curtly. “And you let me run him down! How mean, how unutterably mean of you, Esther!... I can’t think now why I never guessed! Raymond Ashton!”

Esther had flushed scarlet.

“I never said that was his name,” she tried to defend herself. “It’s purely your imagination. And even supposing it is, do you think I mind what you say about him, or Mr. Mellowes either? Neither of you know him as I do, or you would never say such cruel, wicked things.” She stopped with a sob in her voice.

“Then it is Raymond Ashton?” June said gently. She got up and came over to where Esther was sitting. “Oh, I am sorry I said anything about him!” she cried impulsively. “You ought to have stopped me. How on earth was I to know?”

“I don’t care what you said; it’s all untrue,” Esther protested stormily. “Nothing you could ever say about him would influence me or make me feel any differently.”

June got up for a cigarette; when she was nonplussed 159 she invariably had to smoke; she took several agitated puffs before she looked at her friend again.

“Well, anything I said was in absolute innocence, you know that,” she said in distress. “I’d no more idea than the dead that you and he.... So that’s why he doesn’t want you to go to his mother?”

“He doesn’t know; I never told him it was to Mrs. Ashton’s––I just said I had had an offer of a berth. I suppose you are trying to make out now that he–––”

“Heaven bless the child!” June cried. “I’m not trying to make out anything! I’m struck all of a heap like! as Lydia says. So he’s the phantom lover, is he?... Well––I can’t find any words to suit the case.”

“He’s not a phantom lover,” Esther protested. “He’s a real lover, a very real lover.”

June stopped and took her hand.

“I’m not going to let you quarrel with me over him, no matter how badly you want to,” she said. “No man is worth two friends having a row over. I’m quite prepared to take him to my arms and love him if you do.... Oh, Esther, don’t look like that!”

There were tears in Esther’s eyes, and her lips were trembling. “You’re making fun of me,” she protested. “It’s unkind of you.”

June turned away; she wondered if perhaps, after all, she and every one else had thoroughly misunderstood Raymond, and if this girl’s warm championing of him was deserved.

“He’s not nearly good enough for her,” she was telling herself indignantly. “She’ll never really be happy with him.”

“I hope you won’t tell Mr. Mellowes, or any one else,” Esther was saying defiantly. “I don’t want my affairs talked over by every one.”

“I shall not tell any one,” June said quietly.

She stood looking down into the fire, and her face was troubled.

Presently she walked to Esther, and, stooping, kissed her.

“I’m awfully glad I know,” she said. “It makes our friendship seem so much more real.”

Esther smiled faintly.

But June was ill at ease. She felt instinctively that things were not all right.

“It isn’t the man himself,” she told herself obstinately. “It’s some foolish, mistaken ideal of him that she has created.”

She wondered what he really was doing in Paris. Micky would know––he and Micky had been such great friends. There would be no harm in speaking of him to Micky, at least that would not be betraying any secret or confidence.

She rang Micky up the following morning. She made the excuse that she wanted to see him on business. She took him to lunch at her club.

“You don’t look well,” was her greeting. “What’s the matter, Micky?”

Micky frowned. If there was one thing he hated it was for any one to remark on his appearance. He answered brusquely that he had never been better in his life.

“By the way, I was going to write when you rang up,” he said. “I’ve got some tickets for a first night to-morrow. Would you care to come along and––and bring Miss Shepstone?”

June beamed. She liked going out with Micky.

“I should love it,” she said with enthusiasm. “I can’t answer for Esther, though.”

“Try to persuade her,” he urged carelessly. “I don’t suppose she’s been about much; it would do her good.”

“She told me she loves theatres,” June admitted; “but the trouble will probably be that she hasn’t got a dress.”

“A dress?” Micky echoed vaguely. “Can’t you lend her one of yours?”

June laughed.

“My dear boy, she’s much taller than me and slimmer. ... However, I’ll see what can be done. Where shall we meet you?”

“I’ll call for you at seven. We’ll have some grub first.”

“Good! And if Esther won’t come?”

“Oh, well, if she won’t, you come along, of course; but try and persuade her.”

“She’s refused Mrs. Ashton’s offer, you know,” June said presently. She kept her eyes lowered; she felt self-conscious and guilty.

“Has she?” Micky did not sound particularly interested.

“Yes; the phantom lover objected, or something, and I think it’s just as well.”

“She said something about it when I had tea with you the other day.”

June nodded.

“So she did. I dare say that wretched Raymond would have tried to make love to her if she had gone,” she added deliberately.

“He’s away just now,” Micky said quickly. “I ran across him when I was over in Paris last week.”

June looked up quickly.

“Did you? What’s he doing there?”

“Nothing particular; he often goes over, you know.”

“I can’t stand that man,” June said, after a moment.

“No?” Micky’s voice was casual.

“I never could see why you were so thick with him,” she went on.

Micky laughed lazily.

“Perhaps because I haven’t your gift of second sight, my dear,” he said.

“I shouldn’t have thought it would need second sight to see what he is,” June declared.

She looked across at Micky and was surprised by the hard expression of his face. “I hate men who flirt,” 162 she added. “Micky, do you know that I’ve got a kind of feeling about Esther’s phantom lover that he doesn’t really exist?”

Micky sat up with sudden attention.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I mean that he isn’t really a tangible man,” she explained haltingly.

Micky laughed.

“Oh yes, he is,” he said.

June caught her breath.

“You don’t mean––oh, do you mean that you know him?” she asked excitedly.

Micky met her eyes with a faintly ironical smile in his own.

“Yes, I know him,” he answered hardily. “And so do you. My dear, I may be very green, but your careful questioning wouldn’t deceive a mouse.”

“Micky!” said June indignantly. She flushed all over her face, and her queer eyes blazed angrily. She really felt that she had a done a dreadful thing in having allowed him to guess.

“You needn’t look so upset,” Micky said. “You’ve not told me anything; I knew it long before you did.”

“When? How––oh, Micky, do tell me!”

“There’s nothing to tell. Ashton often spoke about her to me. I knew she was at Eldred’s, and––well that’s all,” he added lamely.

“All!” said June disappointedly. “But surely you know more than that! What do you think of him? Do you think he really cares for her? Oh, Micky, do you think he’s good enough for her?”

Micky looked away.

“I don’t know that it matters very much what I think,” he said drily. “She––she loves him apparently, and that’s all that counts, I imagine.”

“Yes, she loves him right enough,” June admitted gloomily. “It was quite an accident that she told me 163 his name, of course, and she made me promise not to tell any one, particularly you. I suppose because she knows that you and he were friends.”

“Possibly, if she does know. I rather doubt if Ashton said much to her about me, though. He used to keep things to himself a good deal.” He picked up the menu. “Aren’t you going to have anything more to eat? I thought you were hungry.”

“I’m not now; I’m too excited. Micky, when you saw him in Paris, didn’t he say anything, ask you anything? Oh, it all seems so extraordinary!”

“My dear girl, what could he ask me?” Micky objected gently. “I never discuss––Miss Shepstone with him, and he is not in the least likely to tell me his private affairs, and I’m sure I don’t want to know them.”

June was silent for a moment.

“Esther is laying up trouble for herself,” she said then. “Don’t you think she is?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” Micky maintained stolidly. “And if you take my advice, you won’t either. It never does to meddle with other people’s affairs.”

“But she’s my friend,” June objected hotly. “And do you mean to say that I have got to stand by and see her ruin her life?”

Micky shrugged his shoulders.

“She’s not married yet,” he said laconically. “Have some tipsy cake, will you?”

“No––I don’t want any more.”

“Well, I do. Waitress....”

It was a deliberate attempt to change the conversation, and June knew it; she sat back in her chair frowning.

She supposed Micky would not talk about Ashton because he was his friend; men were so absurdly loyal to one another.

“If you loved Esther as much as I do,” she said suddenly, “you wouldn’t stand by and say nothing while she goes and marries that man.”

Micky was prodding the tipsy cake with a fork.

“She hasn’t married him yet,” he said stoically. “And if she’s happy–––”

“She isn’t, my good man! at least only in theory!” June declared. “It’s not Raymond Ashton she really cares for, but some wonderful person she thinks he is. She is looking at him through rose-coloured glasses.”

Micky smiled.

“That’s what most women do, isn’t it?” he asked. “My dear girl, don’t get so upset; I thought you wanted to bring me out to talk business.”

“This is business, my business at least, even if you’re not interested. No wonder you didn’t want her to go to Mrs. Ashton’s!”

Micky coloured.

“Well––I thought it would be better not, certainly.”

June regarded him severely.

“You’re a deep soul,” she said. “I never even guessed that you knew anything.”

“Why should you? And I don’t know anything. Can’t we talk about something else?” he asked plaintively.

It was getting on his nerves, this constant conversation about Esther.

“So you’ll come along to-morrow, eh?” he asked presently. “It’s a long time since we went for a little jaunt together.”

“I shall love it.” But June answered absently; her thoughts were still with Esther.

Silence fell. Micky had finished his tipsy cake and was leaning back in his chair, a cigarette hanging dejectedly between his lips. He had lit it, but it had gone out, and though matches stood beside him he made no effort to light it again.

June watched him across the table. He didn’t look a bit well, she thought. What was the matter with him?

“You know, Micky,” she said impulsively, “I had quite made up my mind that you and Esther were to fall in love with one another. It would have been ideal, wouldn’t it?” she asked wickedly.

A little spasm crossed Micky’s face, but it was gone so quickly June could never be quite sure if she had not imagined it.

“Ideal,” he said quietly. “Shall we go?”

“I’ll let you know about to-morrow,” June said, as they parted. “I shall have to wear the same old purple frock I wore when you took me out last time; you won’t mind?”

“Not a bit, as long as you come; and ... let me know about Miss Shepstone. If she won’t come I’ll give the ticket away.”

“I’ll let you know,” said June vaguely.

She walked home deep in thought. So Micky had known all along? She was not quite sure that she was pleased with him for keeping the fact from her. They had been such pals, he and she; surely he might have trusted her and told her!

“I suppose I’m not to be trusted with a secret, though,” she thought with a comical sigh. “Look how easily I gave Esther’s away!”

Tea was ready when she got in, and Esther and Charlie sat curled up together in the firelight.

“I’ve got an invitation for us both to-morrow night,” June said, even as she opened the door.

Esther looked up eagerly; she had had rather a dull day of it.

“A theatre,” said June. “It’s from Micky. I tell you at once, so you shan’t throw cold water on it. He’s got some seats for a first night, and asks us both to go. What do you say?”

“I haven’t a dress,” said Esther promptly.

“I told him you’d say that,” June answered calmly, “and he said it didn’t matter––or something to that effect. Micky never notices what you wear,” she went on airily. “I’m going to wear an old purple rag that I’ve had for about forty years.”

Esther laughed. “I dare say I can buy one in time,” she said; she did not intend Micky to think she could 166 not afford a frock. “I think I should rather like to go,” she added shyly.

“Good!” June hid the amazement she felt. “Well, Micky’s going to call for us and take us out to dinner first. It’ll be a scrumptious dinner––Micky always does the thing in style!”

“It’s kind of him to ask me,” Esther said.

“Why?” June demanded. “Oh, you mean because you don’t like one another? But that wouldn’t trouble Micky; he’d take you out if he hated the sight of you, he’s so kind-hearted.”

“Thank you for a doubtful compliment,” said Esther.

She was making plans rapidly in her mind. Micky had never seen her well dressed.

“I had another cheque from Raymond this morning,” she said flushing. “So it will come in useful. I can get a ready-made frock––I shan’t look so bad.”

“You’ll look an angel whatever you wear,” said June affectionately. “I know a little woman just off the Brompton Road who’ll fix you up,” June said eagerly. “She’s got the tiniest shop, but it’s cram full of the sweetest things. She’s awfully nice, too.”

“I can’t afford much,” Esther said dubiously.

“She won’t charge you much,” June declared. “She’s a friend of mine. She has my creams on her counter. It’s a fine advertisement, you see. She gets lots of actresses and smart people in, and they ask what it is, and try a jar and send for more, and, there you are!”

Esther laughed.

“If she’s too expensive–––” she protested.

But she ended by paying much more than she had originally intended. There was such a gem of a frock––black velvet and a white transparent bodice.

“You look a duck!” June declared. “Doesn’t she, Fifine?”

But the mirror told Esther how charming she really looked without any further words.

“I really ought not to have spent so much,” she said as they went home. “But it is rather nice, isn’t it?”

“Micky will be absolutely bowled over,” June declared. “I shall have to take a back seat all the evening.”

And Micky apparently was “bowled over,” judging by the look that crept into his eyes when he arrived and found Esther alone in the sitting-room.

June was late, as usual; she called out to him from her room that she wouldn’t be half a minute.

“There’s no hurry,” Micky answered quickly. He went over to where Esther stood, a little flushed and shy in her new frock.

“It’s very kind of you to come,” he said rather agitatedly. She looked up.

“It’s very kind of you to ask me,” she answered. She felt much more at her ease with him now. She knew that she was looking particularly pretty. “And it isn’t the first time we have had dinner together, is it?” she asked.

He answered eagerly that he was glad she remembered; he had almost thought she must have forgotten.

“No, I shall never forget that, though it seems so long ago since that night. I was unhappy then, but now....”

“But now?” he asked as she paused.

“Now everything has come right,” she told him. “You said you were sure it would, if you remember.”

His face changed a little.

“I am glad I was such a good prophet,” he said.

June came bustling in; she was flushed and breathless, and laden with flowers, fan, and gloves, all of which she dropped to the sofa.

“I’m quite ready. Esther, where’s my cloak? Do find it, there’s an angel. Oh, and my slippers––I’ve got everything else....”

But it was at least another ten minutes before they were in the taxi and racing away through the night.

“I’ve booked a table at Marnio’s,” Micky said. “I hope you like Marnio’s, June?”

“I like anything to-night,” she told him. “I’m going to enjoy myself thoroughly, whatever happens.”

Micky glanced at Esther.

“And you, Miss Shepstone?” he asked rather nervously.

“Esther’s too excited to speak,” June answered for her. “Oh, are we here already?”

She led the way into the lounge of the big restaurant; Micky was well known here apparently.

“Every one in London knows Micky,” June whispered to Esther with a sort of pride. “Look at the attention he gets!”

Esther glanced at him; probably anybody with Micky’s money could get the same attention, she thought.

There were a good many people in the lounge; Esther looked at them interestedly. Some of the women were beautifully dressed, but the black and white frock held its own bravely.

“You look nicer than any of them,” June told her. “I knew––hullo!––Micky’s found a friend.” She looked across to where he was standing, and Esther followed her gaze.

Micky was talking to two ladies––one of them was young and rather pretty, and the other––Esther’s face flushed suddenly, and she bit her lip hard, for the other was Mrs. Ashton, Raymond’s mother.