In spite of the new friend she had made in June Mason she felt lonely and unwanted; she began to cry like a child, as she sat there on the side of the iron bedstead; the tears ran down her cheeks and she made no effort to wipe them away.

She wanted to be happy so badly, and it seemed as if she never was to be happy. The elation that had come to her when she read Micky's letter that morning had faded miserably; after all, what was a letter when it was a real, living personality she wanted, and not mere words?

Downstairs she could hear June Mason moving about and singing; she at least was happy with her little mauve pots and her cheery optimism.

Esther cried all the time she undressed; she crept into bed sobbing miserably, like a child who sleeps at a boarding-school for the first time.



CHAPTER V

Micky passed three days before he made any attempt to see Esther Shepstone again; days that seemed like a month at least, and during which he lost his appetite and forgot to smoke.

That she did not particularly care if she saw him again or not, he was miserably sure. She had no thoughts for any one but Ashton. He felt as if he could not settle to anything. On the third morning Marie Deland rang him up. He had told her many times that her voice on the telephone cheered him, but to-day it made him frown.

He tried to answer her cheery "That you, Micky?" as cheerily, but he knew it was a failure.

"What's the matter?" she asked quickly. "Aren't you well? Or are you cross?"

There was a hint of laughter in her voice. She had never known Micky cross; he was always the cheeriest of mortals.

Micky grabbed at the excuse she offered him.

"I've got a brute of a headache," he said.

"Poor old boy!" The pretty, sympathetic voice irritated him. "Come out for a walk; it will do you good."

"Thanks—thanks awfully, but I don't think it would. I'm a perfect bear—you'd hate me. Some other time."

There was a little pause. Micky could have kicked himself as he remembered on what terms they had parted. It was not her fault that a miracle had happened since then to metamorphose the whole world. He supposed uncomfortably that she was just the same as she had been when he last saw her. He knew she must be wondering why he had stayed away so long. He tried to soften his words.

"I'll look in to-night, if I may. Sorry to be such a bear."

She answered rather dispiritedly that it was all right, that she was sorry he felt ill. It was a relief when she rang off. He took his hat and went off to call on Esther.

He felt that he could settle to nothing till he had seen her again; there was a curious jealousy in his heart about Ashton; he would have given anything he possessed to be able to disillusion her, but knew it was impossible without hopelessly compromising himself.

It was a bitter disappointment to find that she was out when he reached the boarding-house; his face fell absurdly when he turned and walked away.

He wondered if she really was out, or only out to him.

After a moment he laughed at himself. A few days ago he had not known there was such a person as Esther Shepstone in the world, and yet now here he was, consumed with jealousy because she was not in when he called.

He took a taxicab back to the West End; he walked about for half an hour staring aimlessly into shop windows, then went back to his rooms. He could not understand his extraordinary restlessness; he had only once before felt anything like it in all his life, and that had been the first time he ever backed a horse, and was waiting a wire from the course to say if the brute had won.

He recalled the fever of impatience that had consumed him then, and laughed; after all, it had been nothing compared with this.

Driver came into the room.

"If you please, sir, Miss Mason has been on the 'phone. She said would I ask you to meet her for tea."

Micky did not look enthusiastic; he liked June awfully, but to-day every one and everything seemed a bore.

"Tea! Where?" he asked vaguely.

"Miss Mason said that you would know, sir; the same place as usual."

"Oh, all right!"

Micky looked at the clock and sighed. After all, June was always amusing; he went off almost cheerfully to the unpretentious club of which she had spoken to Esther. He had to wait in the lobby while a boy in buttons fetched June to him. She came downstairs looking very much at home, and smoking the inevitable cigarette. It was one of June Mason's charms that she always managed to look at home wherever she was.

She had taken off her coat, but she wore a green hat with a gold ornament that suited her to perfection, set on her dark head at rakish angle.

"I began to think you were not coming," she said.

She gave him her left hand, and Micky squeezed it in friendly fashion. They went upstairs together to a small tea-room, which was just now deserted save for two waitresses who were giggling together over a newspaper.

June walked over to a table in the window, and Micky followed.

He had been here with her scores of times before, and the two waitresses smiled at one another knowingly; they were quite sure that this was romance.

Micky was sitting with an elbow on the table, absently smoothing the back of his head; he was wishing it was Esther sitting opposite to him; he looked up with a little start when June spoke to him.

"What's up, Micky? I've never seen you looking so depressed."

He roused himself with an effort.

"Oh, nothing, nothing! It's the beastly weather, I expect."

She looked at him quizzically with her queer eyes.

"I shouldn't have thought the weather would depress you," she said. "However, if you say it does——"

He shook himself together.

"I'm not depressed any longer," he declared. "Well, and how are you? And how is the swindle?" It was Micky's pet joke to call June's invention the "swindle," though in his heart he was almost as proud of it as she was.

She laughed.

"It's very well, thank you; but that isn't what I want to talk to you about to-day. Micky, would you like to come to tea with me one afternoon?"

Micky stared.

"Tea! Haven't I come to tea with you to-day?"

"Silly! I don't mean here; I mean where I live. It's a boarding-house. I dare say you'll hate it, but it's really quite a nice place, and beggars can't be choosers, anyway. I've got a very comfortable sitting-room and most of my own furniture, and I can give you a good cup of tea, or anything else, if you prefer it."

"I shall be delighted," Micky looked puzzled. "But isn't this rather a breaking of rules? It's not so very long ago that you made me swear never to try and find out where you lived. I thought it was all to be a deadly secret."

"So it was, but I've decided to admit you. I know you're safe, and, Micky, wouldn't you like to meet the dearest, prettiest, most attractive little girl...."

Micky moved his chair back in mock alarm.

"June! You're not turning match-maker! If you are, I give you fair warning that our friendship will have to end once and for ever. I'll put up with a lot from you, but not this—not...."

"Don't be an idiot!" said June calmly. "There isn't the slightest fear! And anyway——" she added, with a half sigh, "she's engaged, so it wouldn't be any good. But I want you to help her.... Oh, I know I'm always bringing you foundlings to help and look after, but you've got such a big heart—and such a big banking account," she added audaciously.

"Well, go on——" he said resignedly. "Who is the foundling this time, and what am I to do?"

Micky laughed.

"She's a darling," June said warmly. "I've only known her for four days—she lives in the same house. I took a fancy to her from the first moment I saw her. No, it was before that—it was when I first heard her name...."

Micky raised his brows.

"What a creature of impulse! My dear, you'll burn your fingers badly some day."

"And when I do," said Miss Mason sharply, "I shan't come crying to you for sympathy; however ... Well, she's poor! she's one of those horribly poor, frightfully proud people whom it's impossible to help. I've tried all ways! I asked her to go shares with my sitting-room, and she said she couldn't afford it; she'll hardly let me give her a cup of tea or coffee for fear I should think she is sponging on me. She seems most frightfully alone in the world. She says she engaged to a man, but he's abroad, and I'm sure he's not nice, anyway. He's only written to her once since I've known her, at all events, and this morning when there wasn't a letter, I know she went back to her room and cried. I knocked at the door, but she wouldn't let me in."

She paused, and looked at Micky for sympathy.

He half smiled; he knew how enthusiastic June always was about everything.

"Well, and what do you want me to do for this damsel in distress?" he asked gently.

"I want you to get her a berth somewhere," he was told promptly. "No, it's no use saying you can't! My dear man, you must know scores of people who'd take her in. She thought she was fixed up all right, but now it appears that the people she was with before haven't got a vacancy for her, and so that's knocked on the head. She told me that she's have to just take the first thing that came along. I don't believe she's hardly got a shilling to her name. I offered to take her into partnership with me. I said we'd go travelling together for my beauty cream, but she wouldn't hear of it.... She's so proud!"—and here a sound of tears crept into June Mason's voice. "I ask you, Micky, what can be done with any one like that?"

Micky shrugged his shoulders.

"If she'll take anything that comes along, she ought to get a job pretty soon," he said laconically. "I'll speak to a man I know—can she write a decent hand and all that sort of thing?"

"Of course she can! But I want a good berth, mind you! I've never been so fond of anybody as I am of her. She's awfully worried about this horrid man she's engaged to. She doesn't say much about him, but this morning she said that there didn't seem to be anything to live for, and her eyes looked so sad...."

Micky smiled at her serious face.

"You'd make an eloquent appeal in a court of law," he said. He took a pencil from his pocket and an envelope. "Give me her name and address, and I'll see what I can do. I don't promise anything, mind you, but I'll do what I can...."

"You're a dear," said June warmly. "I know you were the one to come to. I'm quite sure when you've seen Esther you'll ... why, what's the matter, Micky?"

Micky had looked up sharply. His face had paled a little.

"What name did you say?" he asked. He never knew how he managed to control his voice. His heart seemed to be thumping in his throat. "What name did you say?" he asked again, with an effort. "I did not catch it——"

"It's Esther," said June, "Esther Shepstone."



CHAPTER VI

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 fiance! 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 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.



CHAPTER VII

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 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. 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 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.... 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 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 L3 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. "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 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 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 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.



CHAPTER VIII

June introduced Micky and Esther with a sort of hurried self-consciousness. It was not by her invitation that Micky was here this afternoon, and the fact that she had asked him to help Esther embarrassed her.

"Mr. Mellowes—Miss Shepstone; you've both heard of each other, so I can leave you to entertain one another while I get tea."

And she bolted out of the room.

Esther looked after her with angry eyes; she thought June might have stayed—she took a quick step forward to call her back, but Micky stopped her; he put a hand on the door above her head, shutting it fast.

"I'm going to speak to you, whether you like it or not," he said.

She faced him angrily; she was very flushed.

"I don't know what you mean. You've no right to speak to me like that. If Miss Mason has asked you here to meet me——"

"June didn't know I was coming. She has no more idea than the dead that we have ever met before. I haven't told her, and I don't suppose you have—or will," he added grimly. "However, as we are alone, will you tell me what I've done to offend you? It's not fair to take me for a friend and then fling me over as if I were an old glove.... If I've annoyed you, the least you can do is to tell me how and give me a chance to explain."

Esther had walked back to the fire and Mellowes followed her. He knew that he had only got a few moments, and he meant to make the most of them.

"You refuse to see me or to allow me to take you out," he went on urgently. "And you haven't even answered my last letter. If I have offended you——"

"You haven't," said Esther, as he paused. "I'm not at all offended."

"Then why, in the name of all that's holy——" he began again, in exasperation. She cut him short.

"You didn't tell me the truth about yourself. You made out you were poor! You pretended to be some one quite different to what you are. You've a perfect right to, I suppose, if you wish, but I hate being deceived and treated like that. I suppose you think anything is good enough for me! Perhaps it is, but——"

Micky brought his fist down with a bang on the back of the big armchair.

"I give you my word of honour, Miss Shepstone, that what I said was only because it seemed the best way to make you trust me. I had absolutely no other reason for pretending to—to—be anything but what I am. I know you'd have gone off at a tangent if I'd said I was unfortunate enough to be rich, I know——"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"You didn't even write to me from your real address—you just put a number." She broke into an angry little laugh. "I suppose you thought I shouldn't understand that a number can also be an expensive flat."

Micky turned pale with anger.

"You're deliberately trying to make out that I'm a bounder. It's not fair—I don't deserve it; and as to thinking anything good enough for you—I suppose you'd only take it as a fresh insult if I told you that there is nothing in the world I consider good enough for you.... I ... oh, what's the good of arguing," he broke out with sudden rage.

"It's no good at all, and there's nothing to argue about," Esther said stiffly. She had taken off her gloves and was flattening them out nervously. "You offered me your friendship, and now I decline it. I suppose I am free to do so?"

"No," said Micky violently, "you're not ... I—I ..." He turned away sharply, realising with dismay how nearly he had blurted out the truth about Ashton. After a moment he spoke more quietly.

"It is pure chance that brought me here. I have known June Mason for years; we are old friends. She has no idea that I have ever seen you before, but I will tell her this moment if you wish it——"

She raised passionate eyes to his face.

"I will never forgive you as long as I live if you dare to," she said stormily.

Micky frowned till his brows nearly met above his kind eyes.

"Whatever I say or offer to do is wrong, of course," he said savagely. "If I had not offered to tell her, you would probably have said that I was ashamed of knowing you ... oh, good Heavens! whatever have I said now?" he added as he saw the hot blood rush to her face.

He went over to her and tried to take her hand. "Do forgive me; I beg of you to forgive me—I'm a clumsy idiot—but you don't know how hurt I've felt about being turned down in this way."

"It's absurd to feel hurt—I haven't turned you down; I wish you wouldn't keep saying that I have. Why I—I hardly know you," she added with a little angry laugh.

Micky turned away; he stood staring down into the fire; neither of them spoke again till June returned.

She carried a tray of cakes and hot toast; she set it down with a thump on the round table by the fire.

"I coaxed it out of Mrs. Elders," she explained breathlessly. "I generally keep some cake up here myself, but I haven't got a bit to-day. Esther, fetch the cloth, there's a dear; and, Micky, you put the kettle on—I have filled it."

She bustled about, talking the whole time; if she noticed the constraint between the other two she said nothing till tea was ready, and she sat down amongst the mauve cushions with a breathless sigh.

"Now we're going to be cosy. Well, and how have you two been getting on? Micky, I've told Esther so much about you, she's sick to death of the sound of your name."

"I never said so," Esther protested quickly.

"Have some cake," Micky said; he deposited a slice on June's plate and adroitly changed the subject. He was furiously angry; he had not believed that Esther had it in her to turn on him as she had done. But the more she snubbed him, the more determined he was not to be snubbed. As he sat there stirring his tea and listening to June's chatter he was watching Esther all the time.

She had taken off her coat now. He wondered if it was the coat his money had bought her; it was not half good enough, anyway. He thought of the furs and expensive gloves which Marie Deland wore, and he longed to be able to give some to this little girl who sat there with such angry defiance in her eyes.

He realised that this pride of hers was going to be the hardest barrier of all between them.

She could not forgive him because he was a rich man and had pretended to be poor; she could not forget that he had paid for her dinner and a saucer of milk for the cat. He looked down to where Charlie sat blinking in the firelight, and a little smile crossed his face. He wondered if perhaps some day soon she would offer to repay him for that night—if she would insist on doing so, as she had insisted on paying her share of everything with June.

"More tea?" June demanded across the table, and Micky said, "Oh—er—yes, thanks," hurriedly. As long as the meal was unfinished Esther would have to stay in the room, he thought; she could not very well leave before; but in this he was mistaken, for Esther put her cup down almost at once and looked at June.

"Will you think me very rude if I run away?" she asked. "I've got to see Mrs. Elders and tell her I am staying on—I think she has been trying to let my room."

June looked disappointed. "Oh, well, if you really must go," she said. "Come back when you've seen her."

"Thank you," said Esther. She turned to Micky, who had risen. "I won't say good-bye, then," she said with an effort to speak lightly.

He held open the door for her, and a moment later she had gone. As soon as he came back to his chair June rounded on him.

"What have you said to annoy her?" She looked quite angry! "I wanted you to like each other. Really, Micky, you are the limit! She won't come back again, you see if she does."

"No," said Micky. "I don't think she will." He laughed a rather chagrined laugh. "I haven't said anything as far as I know," he added. "It's what you've said, I fancy. You've fed her up with accounts of what a wonderful person I am."

"So you are," said June.

He frowned.

"It's kind of you to think so, but I don't know anybody else who shares your opinion."

"Well, I can't help the world being full of idiots, can I?" she demanded in exasperation. "And, Micky, why did you come here to-day? When I asked you before you said you didn't want to come; you've soon changed your mind."

"I came to tell you about Miss Shepstone. You asked me to get her a berth...."

June laughed.

"My dear boy, you're too late! She doesn't want your help now, or mine either, for that matter," she added ruefully. "She's a lady of means—that wonderful man of hers who's tucked up in Paris having the time of his life is going to allow her three pounds a week."

She paused and looked across at him expectantly.

"Well, why don't you look surprised?" she asked.

Micky swallowed hard.

"I am surprised!" he said. "Too jolly surprised for anything. It's good news, eh? I suppose she was pleased...."

"Of course she was! She's staying on now, and is going to share my room. She had a qualm just for a moment, as to whether she ought to take the money, but I soon put her mind at ease. 'Take all you can get, my dear,' I said. After all, I dare say if the man's giving her three pounds he could afford to give her about double that amount; men are not particularly generous from what I know of them—except you, Micky...."

Micky got red.

"But three pounds a week is enough to live on? Don't you think it is?" he asked, with a touch of anxiety in his voice.

"It's enough to live here on," June admitted. "But it's not great wealth. Still, she's going to get a berth as well, so perhaps, after all, the one you've heard of will suit her. What is it?"

Micky was stooping, patting Charlie's head.

"It's in an office," he said, after a moment; his voice sounded a little uncertain. "I don't think it would really suit her, though—now I've seen her," he hastened to add. "It would be too hard work—late hours and all the rest of it, dontcherknow."

June looked at his bent head shrewdly.

"Humph!" she said. "Perhaps it's just as well this phantom lover of Esther's has turned up trumps, if that's all you'd got to offer her."

"Phantom lover!" said Micky; his voice sounded as if he were annoyed. "Whom are you talking about?"

"Esther's beloved," June said airily. "She won't tell me his name, so I call him the phantom lover, because I've got an eerie sort of feeling in my mind about him that he doesn't really exist. What do you think, Micky?"

"My dear girl, how can I possibly know?"

June produced some cigarettes.

"If he were all that she'd like me to believe he is," she said shrewdly, "she'd tell me more about him. She certainly got a bit more confidential to-day, and said that he had a cat for a mother and a few things like that. She had another letter from him this morning; he's in Paris—on business, so he tells her." She laughed, turning her face for a moment against the mauve cushion. Suddenly she sat upright again, "Micky, I should hate that man if I knew him!"

Micky smiled.

"Another of your 'instinctive hates'?" he asked whimsically.

She nodded.

"I know you don't believe in them, but...."

"Don't I?" said Micky thoughtfully. "I'm not so sure." He looked at his watch. "Well, I must be trotting. There's nothing else I can do for you, I suppose? No more waifs who want billets...?"

"You're laughing at me."

"I'm not—I never laugh at you." He laid his hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Don't bother to get up; you look so comfortable ... Good-bye——"

"Good-bye—and, Micky, don't make up your mind not to like Esther just because of this afternoon."

"My dear, I never thought of such a thing," he protested lamely.

June snuggled more cosily into the cushions.

"Ah, but I know what you are," she said, for once hopelessly on the wrong track.

Micky laughed to himself as he went down the stairs; he wondered if he was getting clever, or if June was not so quick to see a thing as he had believed, that she had not noticed the constraint between himself and Esther.

He looked about him eagerly as he went out, hoping to catch a glimpse of Esther, but the house seemed deserted, quite different from what he had pictured it to be. He had always thought that a London boarding-house must be noisy and crowded and perpetually smelling of soap and cabbage water; he was relieved to find that this was fairly comfortable and quiet.

He picked up a taxicab at the corner of the road and was driven back to his flat. He felt very depressed. Everybody seemed to have interests in life except himself. He wished he had got married years ago and settled down. He thought of Marie Deland with remorseful affection. Here was another woman who must be thinking him a positive outsider. How in the world did a man put an end to a flirtation that was growing rapidly into something else without hurting a woman's feelings, he wondered.

Ashton had accomplished it quite successfully several times. Micky sighed, and let himself into his flat.

There were several letters lying on the table; he flicked them through disinterestedly; then he stopped—the last one was from Ashton.

Micky stood for quite a minute staring down at the handwriting, which he had been at such pains to copy. Then he ripped open the envelope.

Ashton wrote from Paris:—

"DEAR MICKEY,—Just a line to send you my address, as promised. Hope things are going well with you. I am staying on here for the present, as I have run up against Maisie Clare—you remember her, Tubby Clare's little widow? My son, she's got pots of money, and at the present moment things are looking promising! The mater would be pleased if I could manage to pull it off. By the way, I dare say Driver told you I met him the other day—he was very mysterious and hadn't a word to say! Surely he wasn't joy-riding over here by himself? Remember me to every one.—Yours, R. F. ASHTON."

And not one word about Esther! Not a single mention of the girl who was thinking of him night and day, and only living to see him again.

Micky crushed the letter and tossed it into the fire. That settled it, he told himself; he no longer had the slightest compunction in cutting Ashton out; the fellow was not worth a moment's consideration.



CHAPTER IX

Esther trudged to and fro from the agency where the stiff and stately lady presided so many times during the next few days that she began to hate the sight of the tall building and the dark stairs covered with worn linoleum.

Every day the waiting-room seemed crowded with girls, many of whom were a great deal more shabby and hopeless looking than she was, and they all sat patiently on the wooden chairs and eyed one another with a sort of jealous suspicion till their turn came to pass within the magic portal which guarded the stiff and stately lady from the vulgar gaze.

"I told you an agency wouldn't be any good," June Mason said when Esther came home after another fruitless journey. "They take your money and forget you till you turn up to remind them that you're still in existence. Give it up, my dear, and come into partnership with me. I should love to take you round to all the big stores and tell them that you owe your milk and rose complexion to my famous cream." She burst out laughing. "Can't you imagine it! Esther, you and I ought to tour the country in a caravan or something. Call ourselves the new Sequah." She rolled over in the big chair and hid her face in the cushions.

Esther laughed; she felt quite at home now in June's room. There were a few of her own possessions lying about, and she had bought Charlie a new cushion of his own. It gave her a sense of independence to know that she was paying her share of everything.

"I shall get something if I wait long enough," Esther said presently. "Do you know, I rather think I should like to be a companion, after all. I told Mr.——" She stopped; she had been about to add that she had once told Micky how she would hate it.

"It might not be so bad," June admitted; "but you want some one with pots of money and a good temper."

She looked at Esther consideringly.

"There wouldn't have to be any eligible sons either," she said bluntly. "You're much too pretty——"

Esther laughed.

"What nonsense!"

June dragged Esther to her feet and made her look in the glass.

"Now dare to call it nonsense—look at yourself," she commanded.

But Esther only looked at June.

"Next to you," she began, but June cut her short.

"If you're going to try blatant flattery," she said.

They both laughed at that.

Some one tapped at the door; Lydia, the smiling housemaid, appeared; she looked at the two girls with a sort of parental expression; she was very fond of them both, and never minded how late or how hard she worked to do little extra jobs for either of them. It was her greatest pride to stay in when her "evening out" came and help June label the little mauve pots; she recommended the famous cream to all her friends; she was as proud of it as if it were her own invention.

She carried a note on a tray now, which she handed to Esther.

"I found it on the hall table, Miss," she said. "It must have been left by messenger."

She waited a moment to make up the fire and tidy the hearth; she was always glad of an excuse to stay in the room; she was never tired of telling her friends what a pretty room it was—she loved the mauve cushions and the many photographs.

She went away with a reluctant backward look. June yawned.

"Another love-letter?" she asked chaffingly. She looked across at Esther, and was surprised to see the embarrassment in the girl's face.

"It's from Mr. Harley," she said, in distress. "Oh, I'm sure I've never let him think I——" She handed the letter to June. "He wants me to go to a theatre with him," she added in confusion.

"Well, I should go," said June promptly. "You don't get much fun, and the man knows you're engaged, and if he likes to chance it——"

"But how does he know I'm engaged? I've never told him."

"I did," June said calmly. "I saw the way the wind was blowing and told him to save complications." She made a little grimace at Esther. "And after this note are you still going to declare that he isn't more than ordinarily interested? Esther, you're the most unsuspecting baby—— Say you'll go, of course. There's no harm in it."

"I certainly shall not go," Esther said; "I don't want to, for one thing, and, for another, it would not be fair——"

"You mean to Mr. Harley?" June asked.

"Yes, and to——"

"To the phantom lover! Oh, I see!" said June drily.

Esther coloured.

"I don't know what you mean," she said with a touch of dignity.

"Oh yes, you do," June declared. "Don't look so angry! What am I to call him, pray? You haven't told me his name." She waited, but Esther did not speak. "Of course, if you'd rather not," she added, rather stiffly.

Esther got up and came over to sit on the arm of her chair.

"It isn't that I don't want you to know, but—well, I promised him not to tell any one; you see, his people would be furious if they knew. After all, I suppose I'm not anybody, and——"

June pushed her away.

"Oh, you make me tired!" she said crossly. "Why will you insist on belittling yourself? Who on earth is this wonderful man that he sets himself up for such a model of superiority? He can't be anybody if he's ashamed of you. You don't like Micky, I know, but, with all his money and position, if he loved you he'd be only too proud to shout it from the housetops, and not care a hang what the world thought. There's no rotten pride about Micky—if he loved a beggar girl he'd be proud of it.... No, don't say any more, it makes me boil!"

She lit another cigarette and puffed at it furiously.

"Do you—do you think I should go with Mr. Harley, then?" Esther asked presently. Her pretty face was flushed and troubled.

"No, I don't," said June emphatically. "I think you ought to please yourself. I don't want to advise you, but it does seem to me that you're throwing away any chance of real happiness for a—for a, what do they call it?—something beginning with a 'c'...."

"Chimera," said Esther. She sat with downcast eyes for a moment, then suddenly she began to cry. Perhaps in her heart she felt in some mysterious way that June was right, that this girl, with her odd instinct, had put her hand right on the heart of things, and that her happiness did not really lie with Raymond Ashton.

And yet she loved him. Night and day he was never out of her thoughts. She slept with his letters under her pillow. Since he went away he had done much to blot out all that had gone before. And yet sometimes the memory of that past unhappiness, of its disagreements and quarrels and petty unkindnesses would raise its ugly head and look at her with a sort of leer as if daring her to forget entirely.

June was all remorse in a moment.

"I'm a pig!" she said disgustedly. "I ought to be kicked. Why do you let me talk so much? It's awful cheek of me to dare to criticise you. I'll never do it again. He may be an angel for all I know. Esther, if you don't stop crying I shall cry too, and then there'll be a nice sort of noise."

Esther dried her eyes and laughed shakily.

"I'm silly; I don't know why I cried. There's nothing to cry for," she protested.

"That's why women always cry," said June hardily.



CHAPTER X

Esther climbed the stairs of the agency again the following morning. There was a little feeling of despondency in her heart. She had slept badly, and she had not been able to forget what June had said about Ashton.

Esther was influenced by June's "instincts," as she chose to call them; she knew it was foolish, but the fact remained all the same.

When she opened the waiting-room door she felt half inclined to turn and go away again. She would only meet with the same answer: "Nothing that will suit you to-day, Miss Shepstone."

But for a wonder the room was almost empty, and the tall and stately one was standing at the communicating door.

When she saw Esther she came forward.

"I was hoping you would call, Miss Shepstone. Will you come into my room?"

Esther's heart leapt. She obeyed eagerly.

A lady was sitting at the table looking rather bored and irritated.

She was grey-haired and handsome, and most beautifully dressed. She turned slightly when Esther entered, and stared at her through her lorgnette, then she looked at the stiff and stately one.

"Is this—er—the young lady?" she asked.

"Yes, madam—this is Miss Shepstone." The stately one introduced Esther with a wave of her hand. "This lady, Miss Shepstone, is looking for a companion. Some one who can work well—and read aloud." She looked at Esther sharply. "Can you read aloud?" she asked.

Esther stammered out that she supposed she could, but ...

"That is a minor detail," the lady with the lorgnette interrupted. "Miss Shepstone, I am not wanting a companion in the ordinary sense of the word. That is to say, I do not want you to be constantly with me. You will have your own bedroom and sitting-room—and I shall only want you at certain hours of the day. You will write letters for me and make yourself generally useful." She paused, she searched the girl's eager face through her glasses.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Twenty-four," said Esther.

"Humph! And what have you done up till now?"

Esther flushed.

"I was in the workroom at Eldred's. The manager has promised to give me a reference, but——"

"Eldred's!" the sharp gaze wavered a little. "And why did you leave there, may I ask?"

"I left to get married, but——"

"But you are not married, of course."

"No."

"Nor going to be?"

"Not for the present, but——"

She was cut short again.

"I don't want to get used to you and to get you used to my ways and then for you to leave me," she was told. "And I don't want a young man constantly dangling round the house." Her voice was sharp, but not unkind, and there was a smile in the keen eyes.

"No," said Esther. "I quite understand."

There was a little silence.

"Well," said the owner of the lorgnette then, "what do you think about it? Do you think you would like to come? Do you think you would like me?"

Esther smiled, there was something in this blunt questioning that reminded her of June Mason.

"Yes," she said. "I think I should, but——"

"I hate that word," she was told promptly. "I don't want any 'buts' in the question. You either wish to come or you do not. I will give you fifty pounds a year, and your keep, of course. It's too much for an inexperienced girl like you, but I think I shall rather like you. Well, what do you say?"

Esther did not know what to say. The offer was tempting enough, but she thought of June Mason and the room with the mauve cushions where she was settling down so happily, and her heart sank.

"I should like to think it over," she said, stammering. "I have a friend I should like to talk it over with if you don't mind. If you will give me just a day or two...."

"Take a week by all means. I am going away myself for a few days, and I shan't want you till I come back. Write and tell me what you decide to do. Here is my card...." She took one from a heavy silver case and laid it on the table. She looked at Esther quizzically, then suddenly she held out her hand.

"Good-bye, Miss Shepstone. I hope I shall see you again," and the next moment she had gone.

The stiff and stately owner of the agency was smiling, well pleased.

"You are most fortunate, Miss Shepstone," she said. "You have secured one of the best posts I have on my books. If you take my advice you will not hesitate. Make up your mind at once."

Esther did not answer. She took up the card from the table, then she drew in her breath with a hard sound, for the name printed there was Mrs. Raymond Ashton.



CHAPTER XI

Esther never knew how she got out into the street. She walked along like some one in a dream; her cheeks were burning hot.

Mrs. Raymond Ashton! Raymond's mother! The woman of whom he had spoken so often and so bitterly. The woman who had raised such a fierce objection to her marriage with Raymond.

There was not much resemblance between mother and son; they were both handsome, but there was a sort of humour in Mrs. Ashton's face which Raymond's lacked. Esther tried vainly to find some likeness between them.

She realised how different this woman was to what she had pictured her, remembered that spontaneously offered hand. Had Mrs. Ashton known who she was? Oh, surely not, or she would never have appeared so anxious to engage her.

How angry Raymond would be. Angry that the woman he loved was to go to his mother as a paid companion. Esther could not help smiling. For her own sake she would not mind it. At least she would be with his mother and in his home; but, of course, the thing was impossible—such a situation would not be tolerable. She would have to write and refuse.

"Good afternoon!" said a voice, and, turning hurriedly, Esther found Micky Mellowes beside her.

He looked as if he were not quite sure of his reception; but to-day Esther had other thoughts to occupy her which were more interesting than he was—and the smile she gave him was almost friendly.

"Good afternoon! Isn't it cold?"

"Very.... Where are you hurrying off to?"

He tried to speak casually, but his heart was beating uncomfortably.

"I'm just going back home," Esther said. "I've been to an agency looking for a berth."

"A berth!" A frown came between his eyes. "What sort of a berth?" he asked quickly.

Esther laughed.

"Well, I'm think of taking your advice—and going as companion to an old lady—not that she's very old," she added doubtfully, with sudden memory of Raymond's mother.

"You mean that you have decided?"

She hesitated.

"Well, I have the refusal of it." She looked at him with defiant eyes. "I am only just hesitating—I want to talk to Miss Mason about it—she is much more worldly wise than I am."

"June is a very sensible woman," he said. "I am glad you like her." He hesitated. "And the—er—post?" he asked with an effort. "Will it be in town?"

"Oh yes."

She was obviously not going to tell him any more, but Micky persevered.

"I wonder if it is likely to be any one I know. I have quite an extensive acquaintance in London."

"Yes," said Esther. "But I don't suppose you will know these people, anyway," she added with an unconscious touch of loftiness in her voice. "The name is Ashton—Mrs. Raymond Ashton."

There was the barest possible silence before Micky answered, a silence during which the blank dismay and anger that crossed his face would have been amusing had it not also had something of pathos in it.

"Ashton?" he said. "Oh, yes, I know Raymond Ashton very well." He was watching her with jealous eyes, and she turned her head sharply and looked up at him.

Just for a moment a traitorous eagerness crossed her face; he could almost see the quick question on her lips, then she laughed.

"Really! How funny! But, of course, as you say, you must know a great many people."

"I have known the Ashtons for years. You will like Mrs. Ashton."

There was a sort of quiet insinuation in the words, and Esther bit her lip.

"And—the son?" she asked. "I think you said you knew the son."

"Yes, I know him—he is in Paris, I believe."

Micky was conscious of a queer tightening about his throat; it was a tremendous effort to force himself to speak lightly.

"And shall I like him as well, do you think?" Esther asked deliberately.

Micky did not answer.

"Do you like him?" she persisted.

Micky's restraint broke its bonds; if he had died for it he could not have checked the words that rushed to his lips.

"I detest the fellow!" he said. "He's a beastly outsider!"

He dared not look at her. He held his breath, waiting for the storm to break, but if he had lost his self-control she kept hers admirably.

"Really," she said. Her voice was a little breathless, but quite calm. "What does a man mean when he calls another man—such a name?"

Her face was quite colourless, even to the lips, and her hands were clenched in the shabbiness of the cheap little muff she carried.

He blunderingly tried to make amends.

"I ought not to have said that, just because he's not the sort of man I care about," he said stammeringly. "He's quite all right—it all depends from what point of view you regard him. I hope you will forget that I said that, Miss Shepstone. It—it was unpardonable."

"It's a matter of complete indifference to me what you say about—Mr. Ashton," she told him.

She stopped. They had been walking along together.

"Which way are you going?" she asked.

Micky flushed up to his eyes; he knew this was a dismissal.

"I was coming along to see June," he said. "I hoped you would allow me to walk along with you—if I am not intruding."

Esther forced a smile, but her lips felt stiff.

"Oh, but I am not going back," she said. Her voice sounded as if it were cut in ice. "So I won't detain you. Good-bye."

She turned and left him, walking quickly away again in the direction from which she had just come.

Her eyes were smarting with tears that had to be restrained.

"How dare he—oh, how dare he?" she asked herself passionately. "What does he know about Raymond?"

She could not trust herself to go back home. She walked about in the cold till she was tired out. She wanted to be sure that Micky would have left Elphinstone Road before she got there. She wondered if June knew the Ashtons too. She probably did, as Micky Mellowes knew them. They were both of Raymond's own world, these two. It was only she, who loved him best, who was outside the magic circle of his friends.

It was nearly supper time when she got in. She paused for a moment in the hall and looked anxiously at the rows of coats and hats hanging there. She thought she would know Micky's if she saw them there. She forgot that he might have taken them up to June's room. She turned away with a little sigh.

At the foot of the stairs she met young Harley. He coloured sensitively when he saw her and stood aside for her to pass.

Esther flushed too. She wondered what he thought of her note refusing the theatre. With sudden impulse she spoke—

"I hope you are not angry with me, Mr. Harley, but—but perhaps you do not know that I am engaged to be married, and so ... so I don't think I should accept invitations from any one else, though—though it was kind of you to ask me," she added.

"I should have been delighted if you could have come," he said. "But, of course, if your fiance would not care about it——" He broke off as if there was nothing more to be said.

Esther wondered if Raymond really would mind; at first he had been very jealous, and could not bear her to speak to another man, but latterly—she hated it, because she could not forget that once he had told her she could marry a man with money if she only played her cards carefully—the man who had said that seemed a different personality altogether from the man whose letters she had only lived for during the last fortnight.

Was she mean and unforgiving that she continually found herself remembering the quarrels and scenes they had had? She wanted so earnestly to forget them; she went up to June's room with dragging steps.

The door of the room opened before she reached the landing, and June came out.

"I knew it was you," she said. "Poor soul! how tired you sound. Another day of miserable failure, I suppose. Never mind, come and sit down in the warm, and you'll soon forget it."

Esther laughed rather shamefacedly.

"It's been a day of success, strange to relate," she said. "But I'm tired, dead tired—I must have walked miles." She suddenly remembered Micky; she looked round with—a quick suspicion. "Have you been alone all the afternoon?" she asked.