He put Esther into a comfortable chair and himself took her cloak.

"You don't mind being left while I go back for June?" he asked hurriedly; "she seems to have got lost."

Esther looked after him as he went quickly back down the length of the room. She liked him in evening dress. If only it had been Raymond instead!—she stifled a little sigh; she meant to enjoy herself this evening; she was not going to allow one single despondent thought.

June and Micky rejoined her almost at once.

"I thought some one had eloped with you," June said laughingly. "Where did you get to? Micky, how hot this room is—I'm just stifling!"

She threw off her wrap and snatched up a paper fan from the table. Micky sat down between the two girls.

"Miss Shepstone didn't want to see Mrs. Ashton, I rather fancy," he said coolly. He looked at Esther with a slight smile in his eyes. "I believe she was afraid Mrs. Ashton would demand a reason for having had her kind offer so cavalierly refused," he went on banteringly.

Esther laughed.

"Yes, I believe I was," she admitted. "I'm an awful coward over explaining things to people."

"So am I," said Micky drily. He was wondering how he was ever going to explain the most difficult occurrence of his whole life, and if, when he had done so, it would ever be believed.

He looked at Esther a great deal during dinner; he had never seen her so animated; her eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks were flushed; she talked a great deal, and was particularly friendly to him; he was quite sorry when it was time to go on to the theatre.

As they left the restaurant he noticed that she kept close to him again, and that she looked anxiously round for Mrs. Ashton.

"It's all right," he said. "She's upstairs in the gallery."

She smiled. She thought he was very quick to understand her. Raymond had never seemed to understand things without an explanation. She wished he had been rather more like Micky in some ways; she wished—she looked up at Micky guiltily; how could she compare the two men?—the one whom she loved, and the other whom she did not even like!

They were late, and the curtain had risen when they were shown into their seats. The theatre was dark, and Esther could hardly see her way. She put out her hand with a smothered laugh and felt for Micky's. "I can't see," she said.

His fingers closed about hers; such a little hand it felt. He wondered why she was being so kind to him to-night. He did not realise that she was enjoying herself so much that she felt on good terms with the whole world.

Esther sat between him and June, and Micky hardly looked at the stage at all. His eyes turned again and again to her rapt face and the eagerness of her eyes.

She had been to theatres lots of times, so she told him in a whisper, but never in the stalls before. She asked him if he didn't like some of the frocks worn by the people close by.

Micky's eyes flashed.

"Not so well as yours," he said.

She drew away from him a little, and he wished he had not said it. In that one moment he felt that he had broken down all the friendliness she had shown him that evening. She did not speak again for some time.

In the interval June leaned over to him.

"Are you bored, Micky? You look bored to death."

Micky stifled a sigh.

"No," he said rather wearily.

His eyes wandered round the crowded house. There were several people in the stalls whom he knew. He noticed that people were looking at Esther, and he felt a little thrill of pride.

They were wondering who she was, of course. He wished with all his heart that he could stand up in his seat and announce to an interested world that she was the woman he intended to marry.

When the light went down again Esther leaned a little closer to him.

"Mr. Mellowes——" she said.

"Yes." Micky bent his head towards her eagerly. He could hear her agitated breathing, hear too the little quiver in her voice when she spoke.

"Did you see who was in that box on the right?—the lower box.... I thought it was Mrs. Ashton."

Micky answered casually that very likely it was.

"Odd, eh," he said, "that we should dine at the same place and have tickets for the same show?"

Esther said "Yes—yes" twice in nervous hurry.

There was something strained and unnatural about her, and though Micky could not see her face clearly he knew that something had happened to distress her.

"What is it?" he asked anxiously. "Is anything the matter?"

She shook her head.

"No.... No."

She sat very still till the curtain fell again, but Micky had the feeling that she was not paying the least attention to what was going on on the stage, and he knew that her eyes turned again and again to the stage box. What was she afraid of, he asked himself in perplexity, even if Mrs. Ashton did see her and recognize her, surely—then in a flash he knew ... the light had been turned up suddenly, and in that moment he saw the figure of a man move quickly from the front of the box to the screen of the curtains.

Micky gripped the arms of his seat; for the moment he could not move.

It was Raymond—he knew it as certainly as if he had been told.

No doubt he had seen Esther, whilst she ... poor child! Had she seen him too?

He looked down at her; she was sitting up stiffly, her hands clasped in the lap of the new frock of which she had been so innocently proud; her face was as white as the soft tulle of her sleeves, and her eyes were fixed on the box with its velvet curtains where Mrs. Ashton sat laughing and chatting with a girl in a pink frock.

They both turned from time to time to some one who stood behind them in the shadow; once the curtains moved a little and a man's hand and arm showed distinctly.

Micky could bear it no longer; he touched Esther's clasped hands.

"Are you ill?—would you like me to take you out?"

But she shook her head.

"No, no ... please leave me alone."

June had discovered a friend in a seat a row or two ahead with whom she was trying to carry on a conversation; she had no eyes for Micky or Esther. Micky gave a sigh of relief when the lights were lowered again; he could feel all that Esther was suffering, he could put himself in her place so thoroughly.

If he went round to the box and made sure if it were Ashton, perhaps that would be the best way; he could manage to give him the tip then to keep out of the way. He half rose in his seat, but Esther moved at once, laying her fingers on his arm.

"Oh, don't go—don't leave me here," she said tremulously.

It was not the man himself she wanted, but his presence somehow gave her a feeling of confidence; if, indeed, it was Raymond up there in the box. She tried to argue herself out of the fancy; he would have let her know if he had come to London—surely she would have been the first to whom he would have come; she was mad to ever think the man up there in the background could be Raymond.

But the conviction was there in her mind.

"It is he—I know it's he," something in her heart was saying over and over again obstinately.

The rest of the play seemed endless; she rose with a quick breath of thankfulness when it was over.

"You are in a hurry," June said. "Haven't you enjoyed it?"

"Yes, oh yes, but it's hot—I want to get out."

Micky was deliberately being as slow as he could—he blocked the way out obstinately; the stalls were almost empty when at last they left them.

June touched his arm.

"Micky—is—Esther ill? Look how white she is."

Esther was some little way ahead of them; she seemed to be trying to get out as quickly as possible.

"It's too hot for her, poor darling!" June said. "Micky——"

Micky laughed savagely.

"It's not that," he said, "but Ashton was up in that box with his mother, and she saw him."

"Micky——" He silenced her with a frown. He followed Esther as quickly as he could, but she was outside in the cold night air before he overtook her. There was a crowd here too—rows of cars and carriages outside, and women in thin evening frocks and furs shivering in the cold wind.

Micky drew Esther's hand through his arm.

"We shall find our cab this way, I think," he said evenly.

He had seen Mrs. Ashton only a few yards away, and he dreaded every moment that Esther would see her, and see, too, who was with her.

A sudden block in the crowd momentarily hindered them, and in that second a man's light laugh rang out above the noise and chatter of voices.

Micky felt the girl beside him give a convulsive start. She tried to drag her fingers from his, but he held them fast.

The crowd was moving again now; a second, and Raymond and his mother were lost to sight.

Micky had slipped an arm round Esther; he was white to the lips. He knew now how near he had been to discovery and the wreck of all his hopes. He tried to pretend that he did not understand the cause of her agitation. He looked down at her.

"Better now you're in the air?" he asked. "It was hot in the theatre. I—Esther——"

She had swung heavily against him, and looking down in sudden alarm, Micky saw that she had fainted.



CHAPTER XX

Looking back to that night at the theatre it always seemed to June Mason that she had been most extraordinarily blind in not seeing before that it was Esther for whom Micky Mellowes cared.

One glance at his face as he lifted the girl in his arms told her more than any words would have done; there was a sort of indescribable rage and pain in his eyes as he looked down at the white face lying against his shoulder.

People gathered about them, curious and sympathetic. June heard some one say that it had been so "deuced hot in the theatre, no wonder people fainted," but she knew all the time that it was nothing to do with the heat; she stooped mechanically and picked up Esther's gloves which had fallen from her nerveless hand before she followed Micky back into the foyer, where he laid Esther down on one of the long velvet lounges.

Afterwards she realised that the sudden discovery that Micky loved her friend had been something of a shock to her, that she had even been faintly jealous; she did not want to marry him herself, and yet they had been such good friends, it gave her an odd little pain to think that there was somebody else whom he placed a long way ahead of her in his heart.

Most of the people had gone, one or two of the theatre attendants lingered; it seemed a long time before Esther opened her eyes. She lay for a moment, looking vaguely about her, then her eyes came back to Micky, who was bending over her, his face scarcely less white than her own.

She made an effort to lift herself from his arm; then quite suddenly she burst into tears.

The little sound of sobbing broke the spell that seemed, to have held June; she went down on her knees beside her, both arms round the slender, shaking figure.

Micky had risen to his feet. June glanced up at him.

"Go and find the taxi and leave her to me," she said sharply. The look of suffering in his face hurt her. Micky went out into the cold night bareheaded. He hardly knew what he was doing. He stood for some minutes on the path forgetting why he had come out at all, before some one, jostling against him, brought him back to a sense of time and place.

He went down the road to look for a taxi. When he came back Esther was sitting up, wrapped in her cloak. She was not crying now, but she looked like a child who wants to cry but is determined not to.

June was standing beside her.

"We're quite ready," she said. She kept an arm about Esther, and Micky followed them silently.

He saw them into the cab, but did not follow. June asked a sharp question: "Aren't you coming?"

"No—at least, not if you can manage without me." His voice sounded unnerved; he looked away from June to where Esther was huddled into a corner beside her, and suddenly, as if urged by an impulse he could not control, he leaned forward, groped for her hand in the darkness, and, bending, kissed it passionately.

A moment later he had stepped back and shut the door.

He stood looking after the cab till it vanished round a corner, then he went back to the theatre for his hat and coat, and set off again down the road.

He was not conscious of any real emotion; but he walked swiftly as a man does who has a set purpose, and he did not stop till he found himself outside the Ashtons' house.

It was not far off midnight, but lights burned in many of the windows, and after a swift glance at the face of the house he went up the steps and rang the bell.

It was some moments before the door was opened by a mildly amazed-looking servant; Micky asked for Mr. Ashton.

"My name is Mellowes," he said, as she obviously hesitated. "If you tell him my name he will see me. I know he is in, I saw him at the Comedy Theatre to-night."

He stepped past the girl into the hall, and after a slightly scared glance at him she shut the door and departed upstairs.

A moment later Micky heard Ashton's voice.

"You old night-bird! What an ungodly hour to call on any one! I was just going to bed; come in."

He spoke easily, but there was a slightly anxious look in his eyes; he led the way into the library.

The fire was nearly out there and the room felt chilly; he shivered, and, stooping, tried to rake the cinders into a blaze.

Micky watched him silently; after a moment Ashton turned.

"Lord, man! what's the matter? You look as cheerful as Doomsday."

Micky was standing stiffly against the table.

"I saw you in the theatre to-night," he began without preamble. "I was with Miss Shepstone, and she saw you, too—at least she believes it was you, and I am going to tell her that she was mistaken. How soon can you get out of town and back to Paris?"

Ashton stared; the colour had rushed to his face; after a moment his eyes fell.

"I don't know what the devil you're driving at," he said irritably. "I suppose I can come to London without asking you first, can't I? And, as for Lallie"—he grinned nervously—"well, you know as well as I do that that's all been off for weeks."

Micky stood immovable.

"You haven't answered my question," he said flintily. "How soon can you get out of London?"

Ashton swore under his breath.

"I'm dashed if I know what you're driving at," he said sulkily. "If you like to take Lallie to theatres, that's your business; she's a nice little girl, I admit, but——"

Micky took a step forward.

"If you want to make me forget that this is your mother's house, you're going the right way to do it," he said between his teeth. "And I don't want any of your bluff. Miss Shepstone thinks she saw you at the Comedy to-night; she'll probably write to you or try to see you in the morning, and you've got to be out of London by then—do you hear?"

Ashton laughed; he shrugged his shoulders.

"Must?" he said nastily. "How long have you been Lallie's champion?... Oh, all right, all right," he broke off hurriedly, as he saw the ugly light in Micky's eyes. "But it's a bit thick, you know," he resumed injuredly. "I've done with her; you know that. You sent my letter on to her yourself. It's absurd if I can't come back home for a few days in case she should see me and get upset. I'm sorry if she's still fond of me, but, dash it all——"

"You haven't answered my question," said Micky again.

He was controlling himself with a mighty effort, but the veins stood out like cords on his forehead and his hands were clenched.

The two men looked at one another, and it was Ashton's eyes that fell.

"If you're going to bullyrag me...." he began blusteringly, "I may as well tell you that I'm not going back to Paris till I please, and——"

"Very well," said Micky. He turned on his heel.

Raymond watched him cross the room anxiously. When he reached the door he called to him—

"Micky! What the devil are you going to do?"

And Micky answered without turning—

"I'm going to tell Mrs. Clare the way you've treated Miss Shepstone, and if she's half the decent sort I think she is she'll throw you overboard as you've thrown scores of others...."

Ashton followed and clutched his arm. "Come back; don't be such a firebrand! I'll go—I'll clear out by the first train to-morrow.... I'm sorry if Esther was upset, but...."

Micky cut him short. "The first train leaves Victoria at 9.40; I'll be there to see you off."

Ashton scowled. "It's a nice way to treat a friend," he grumbled. "If there's really anything up with Lallie ..."

Micky stood like a statue.

"It's decent of you to take her out," Ashton went on uneasily. "I'm much obliged to you, I'm sure. She's never had much of a time. If I'd had any money...."

Micky broke out then. "Oh, hold your infernal tongue," he said furiously.

He walked out of the room, shutting the door hard behind him. He passed the astonished maid in the hall and let himself out into the night. The blood was pounding in his veins, he felt in actual need of physical violence; he did not know how he had managed to keep his hands off Raymond. He walked on at a furious pace; presently he laughed with a sort of self-pity.

What was the good of what he had done after all? At best he had only succeeded in staving off the inevitable for a little while; Esther would have to know sooner or later.

Such wasted love it was! All for a man who was not worth one thought, or even a tear!

When he got back to his rooms he told Driver to call him early, as he was going to see somebody off by train. He was at Victoria long before Ashton; the greeting between the two men was constrained.

"I was going back to-day, anyway," Ashton said jauntily. "I'm going to be married the day after to-morrow——" He looked at Micky with triumphant eyes. "To Mrs. Clare," he added.

* * * * *

When Micky got back to his rooms, Driver met him; Driver with a spark of unwonted animation in his dull eyes, and who closed the sitting-room door mysteriously behind him as he came forward.

"If you please, sir—there is a lady to see you."

"A lady!" said Micky blankly; then he laughed. "Rubbish! You're dreaming, man."

"No sir," said Driver stolidly.

Micky stared at him for a moment, then he passed him, and threw open the door of the sitting-room.

It was Esther who rose from a chair by the fire as he entered.

For an instant Micky was unable to believe his own eyes, then he shut the door and took a step forward.

"You!" he said. "I never thought...."

She broke in agitatedly.

"Oh, I know; I suppose I shouldn't have come; I don't know what June would say if she knew; but—but there wasn't anybody else I could come to, and you said ... you said...." She flushed up nervously. "Oh, you did say you would be a friend to me, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Micky.

He might have reminded her that she had declined his friendship; he might have reminded her of all the not very kind things which she had said to him, but it was such happiness to see her here in his room that he was in no mood to be critical.

"Do sit down ... there's no hurry, is there?" He wanted to put her at her ease; he did not like to see the nervous agitation in her face; but she shook her head.

"I'm not going to stay, only ... only I...." Her voice changed suddenly. "Oh, Mr. Mellowes, will you tell me how I can get to Paris?"

"Paris!" Micky echoed the word helplessly. "Paris!" he said again. For the moment he stared at her with blank eyes.

She rushed on impetuously.

"I have a friend there—some one I ... some one I ... oh, it's the man I'm engaged to, and I want to see him—I must see him! I've got the money to get there. I hope you don't think I was going to ask you to lend me that...." she added in distress.

"Miss Shepstone ... I—I...." Micky was horribly upset. "I never thought anything of the sort. And—and even if you were going to ask me, you know quite well that anything I have, anything...."

She stopped him hurriedly.

"Oh, I know, it's very kind of you." Her blue eyes sought his face with a sort of abasement. "I don't think I've ever really realised how kind you've been to me," she said. "But ... but I've been so worried and unhappy ... I—I do hope you'll forgive me if I was rude or unkind."

Micky did not answer; so it had come at last, the explanations which he had always dreaded; he racked his brains in vain to think of a way out of it—to make out the best story he could.

She seemed to realise his perturbation, she came a step nearer to him.

"Mr. Mellowes," she said earnestly, "will you tell me something?"

"Yes," said Micky inaudibly, but he did not look at her.

She looked up at him, trying to see his face before she asked her question.

"Do you—do you know who the man is that I am going to marry?"

In the silence that followed her timid question, Micky felt that he lived through years. Should he tell her the truth, or should he not? Ashton was out of London by this time; in another forty-eight hours he would be married to another woman; he raised his head with a sort of desperation. "No," he said.

He tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that at least it was substantially the truth; she was not going to marry Ashton—she never could marry him now.

He heard the sigh of relief she gave.

"I'm glad," she said. "Somehow, lately, I have thought that you did know. Mr. Mellowes ... last night ... I thought I saw him in the theatre last night. I know now that I was mistaken." She paused a moment and looked past him to the window and the cold grey street outside. "I couldn't have seen him," she said again, as if to convince herself rather than him. "Because he is in Paris—I found out this morning that he is still in Paris."

"Yes," said Micky. His voice sounded choked. "And so—so you want to go out there to him, is that it?"

Her face brightened.

"Yes. I should have told June only—only she isn't very sympathetic. You see"—she smiled faintly—"she hates my 'phantom lover,' as she calls him, and so—so I know she would only do her best to keep me from going to him; but you——"

"I am afraid," said Micky quietly, "that I shall try and do the same thing."

He turned and looked at her squarely.

"You've never been to Paris," he said, "and probably you can't speak a word of French. You've probably never travelled any distance alone. Miss Shepstone, it's impossible for you to go. I am only advising you for your own good. Why not write to—to—your fiance and ask him to make arrangements for you?"

He broke off helplessly. The poor little letter in which she had already done so lay in his pocket at that moment.

It turned him sick to think of the tissue of lies and deceit his own actions were forcing upon him.

"I—I have asked him," she said almost in a whisper, "but he said he couldn't have me—then! But that's quite a long time ago," she added hopefully. "And I thought if he saw me—if I got there and surprised him——"

Micky turned away. He could imagine so well what would happen if indeed she found Ashton. He walked over to the window and stood looking into the street with unseeing eyes.

"Have a little patience," he said presently. "Take my advice and stay here. If he—if he can, he will send for you, I am sure." She looked up quickly, a spark of anger in her eyes.

"You sound as if you think that will never be," she said sharply.

Micky met her gaze unflinchingly.

"I don't think anything of the sort. I know—I know if I were in his place, whoever he is—I should be counting the moments till I could ... could have you with me." He smothered the momentary seriousness of his words with a little laugh. "And now, after that pretty compliment, aren't you going to reward me by taking my most excellent advice?"

The ghost of a smile crossed her face.

"I wanted you to say something so different," she told him wistfully.

"I know—but I'm not going to. Any one would advise you as I have. It isn't ... it isn't that I'm prejudiced, or anything like that. I would give a great deal to see you happy. I hope you believe me."

She sat twisting her hands together nervously. After a moment she looked up at him.

"Thank you," she said.

She rose and began to pull on her gloves.

"I hope you don't think it's very dreadful of me to have come," she said deprecatingly. "But ... but this morning, somehow, I felt I must have someone to talk to—some one to advise me...."

"I am honoured that you came," said Micky gravely. Her eyes fell before his.

"And—and you won't tell June?" she appealed.

He smiled rather sadly.

"I am not likely ever to tell any one," he said.

"No, I know. Mr. Mellowes"—she held out her hand to him suddenly, her fair face flushing—"I should like to take back something I said to you one day. Perhaps you don't remember, but I do, and lately—especially since last night, when you were so kind—I've felt that I wasn't just to you; and so ... if you will forgive me, I should like to be friends with you after all."

She was crimson by the time she had finished, but Micky took her hand without answering, held it for a moment, then let it go.

"I suppose I mustn't offer you anything?" he said with forced lightness. "No coffee—or tea? It's cold out this morning. If you would care for anything, my man would bring it at once."

She laughed and shook her head.

"I don't want anything, thank you." She looked round at Micky's luxuriously furnished room. "Isn't it beautiful?" she asked him.

He smiled. "Do you like it? I am glad."

"I think it's lovely." She looked up at him. "I seem to have been climbing a ladder lately," she said. "Since I left that awful place in the Brixton Road—where I am now is heaps better than that was, but this——"

Micky was silent. It trembled on his lips to say that everything he had in the world was hers if only she would take it, but he knew the utter futility of it. Money and possessions counted very little with her. She would not have minded the house in the Brixton Road at all with the man she loved.

He went downstairs with her.

"So we're really friends now?" he said when he bade her good-bye. "And you'll promise to let me advise you again when you're not quite sure what you ought to do?" There was a note of anxiety in his voice.

She flushed nervously.

"It's kind of you to be interested." It seemed strange to her that after all that had happened they should have so easily got back to their old footing of friendliness. But Micky was not at all happy. When she had gone he stood for a long time at the window staring moodily out.

When Driver brought lunch, he found Micky poring over a Bradshaw; he spoke to the man with elaborate carelessness.

"You'll have to take another trip to Paris—to-morrow will do."

"Yes sir." Driver smoothed a crease in the cloth. "To post another letter, sir?" he asked expressionlessly.

Micky looked up sharply, but Driver met his eyes innocently.

Micky coloured.

"No; it isn't a letter this time," he said. "It's to buy a fur coat."



CHAPTER XXI

"The phantom lover," said June Mason lugubriously, "is certainly turning up trumps."

It was a week later, and she was giving Micky tea.

Esther was out. She knew now that it was to see Esther he came. She was quite reconciled to the fact, and had got over her first pang of jealousy, but Esther's indifference to him enraged her.

"Can't the girl see what she's throwing away?" she asked herself furiously. "What on earth is she made of that she can't see what's waiting for her to take? If Micky had adored me as he adores her ... well—my name wouldn't have been June Mason to-day."

But she kept such thoughts to herself and treated Micky very much the same as usual, though unconsciously there was a slight restraint in her manner, especially when Esther was present.

"I'm beginning to think that I've misjudged our Raymond," she went on laughingly. "Perhaps some one has converted him. Anyway, he's treating Esther handsomely. First the money, and last week the fur coat...." Micky looked up with sudden interest.

"Oh, it's come, then, has it!" he said eagerly.

"Come! It's been here two days. How did you know?" she asked with sudden suspicion.

"I heard you talking about it. Wasn't it you? No? Then it must have been Miss Shepstone."

"I dare say," said June easily. "I never saw any one so delighted with a thing as she was with that coat. And it is a beauty, Micky. I only hope it's paid for," she added practically.

"Why shouldn't it be paid for?" Micky said.

She made a little grimace.

"Because Raymond Ashton never paid for things if he could help it; and you know he didn't," she told him. "However, as he seems to be a reformed character, we'll give him the benefit of the doubt." Suddenly she began to laugh. "And that isn't all," she said again. "This morning a collar arrived for that blessed cat——" She indicated Charlie sleeping peacefully on the rug. "A silver collar, too my boy, with Esther's name on it...."

Micky stooped to examine the collar; his face was red when, after a moment, he looked up again.

"Esther declares she never told him we'd got a cat," June told him doubtfully. "But, of course, she must have done so or else the man's got second sight."

Micky was drinking his tea; he choked suddenly.

A feeling of panic closed upon him. Never told him she'd got a cat! of course she hadn't! What a fool he had been to make such a blunder—what an utter blockhead.

"I expect she did tell him," he managed to say.

"Yes, that's what I think." June lit a cigarette and passed the lighted match over to Micky.

"Anyway, Esther goes about the place singing all day," she added drily. "There's no doubt at all that she's up in the seventh heaven of happiness. Reams of letters the man writes her. Perhaps, as the novels tell us, love is a wonderful thing——" She looked at Micky with a comical expression in her queer eyes. "I should say it must be if it's reformed that man," she added cynically.

Micky said nothing. He had been very uncomfortable about things during the last few days. As far as he could find out, Ashton had not yet been married. Supposing it had all been bluff when he said he was going to be married—supposing he turned up again in London?

Micky stayed as long as he could in case Esther came in; it was only when he began to feel sure that June knew why he was dragging his visit to such a length that he said he ought to be going.

"There's no hurry," she said kindly. "Why not wait till Esther comes in?"

Micky shook his head; he said he couldn't spare the time, but in his heart he knew quite well that he intended to wait.

"I suppose she—er—she never talks any more about taking a job now, eh?" he asked after a moment.

"No, I don't think so; that man's word is law to her, you know. I believe if he said 'Come out here and marry me at once,' she'd fly off by the next train. As a matter of fact, I'm expecting something of the sort almost daily."

"I don't think she'll do that," Micky said. He stood back to the fire, with his hands in his pockets, staring up at the ceiling.

"No!" June watched him quizzically. "Do you know, Micky," she said at last, "that I consider you've altered a lot lately?"

He swung round at once, and scrutinised himself in the glass over the mantelshelf.

"For the worse, or the better?" he asked anxiously. "I know I never was exactly an Adonis."

She laughed merrily.

"I don't mean your face, stupid, but yourself. You're quieter, you don't go about so much; in fact"—she challenged him deliberately—"I believe you're in love."

"So I am," said Micky stolidly.

She pretended not to take him seriously.

"It's no joking matter—I mean what I say."

"So do I," said Micky. He laughed. He came over to where she was sitting, and stood behind her chair so that she could not see his face. "I've tried to make up my mind to tell you lots of times," he said. "But I thought perhaps you'd have guessed before now...." He stopped and moved away restlessly.

June sat very still; presently—

"It's Esther," she said quietly.

"Yes."

"Poor old Micky!..."

"You needn't be sorry for me; I walked into it with my eyes wide open. I knew she was engaged—I knew it all the time."

"And Esther ... does she know? Have you told her?"

"Yes.... She took it as an insult. Perhaps it was; I don't know. You see, I knew she was engaged to that other fellow."

"An outsider! who isn't worth a thought," June cried indignantly. "Micky, however could she have refused you?"

He laughed. He looked down at her with a comical expression in his eyes.

"She's not the first woman who's done that," he reminded her.

She sat up with sudden haste.

"That wasn't anything, but this...."

"This," said Micky, "isn't anything either, except on my side. You always told me that some day I shouldn't be able to have what I wanted. You were right."

"I should like to slap her!" said June viciously.

He laughed outright.

"If you did I should slap you, my dear." He went back to his chair by the fire. "It's only between ourselves, June," he said.

"Of course ... and, Micky—do you think she will marry Ashton?"

Micky did not answer for a moment.

"No," he said at last. "I don't think so."

June stared at him.

"Then—then do you mean——" But he would not tell her anything.

"You've heard quite enough for one day," he said teasingly. "Don't worry your head about me. I don't know why I told you—somehow I thought you'd guessed."

June threw her cigarette into the fire.

"I did. I'll be honest—I did guess," she broke off. "Here is Esther," she added.

She got up and opened the door.

"The lady with the fur coat," she announced drily. "Pray come in, madame!"

"June," said Esther protestingly.

She seemed to guess who was there. She looked past her friend at once to Micky.

She coloured faintly as he rose to greet her.

He had not seen her in the fur coat before. The dark fur suited her fairness admirably; the heavy folds hung gracefully about her slim figure; her face rose like a flower from the big, upstanding collar.

"And where have you been all the afternoon?" June demanded. "We waited tea for you till nearly five."

Esther made a little grimace. "I've had my tea out—with Mr. Harley."

"Harley?" said Micky sharply.

June laughed.

"He's one of the tribe who live here," she explained. "He's a great admirer of Esther's. And he's quite a nice boy too, isn't he?" she appealed to her friend.

"Very nice," Esther agreed. "I met him quite by chance, and so we went and had some tea."

Micky was frowning; it was odd that he felt more jealous of this man whom he had never seen than he had ever done of Ashton. He hated to feel that Esther had gone out with him wearing her new coat.

He stood by silently while the two girls chattered together; he felt very much out of it and unwanted.

"I'm glad everybody likes my coat," Esther said. She had taken it off and was holding it at arm's length, admiring its beauty.

"It was a lovely present, wasn't it?" She appealed to Micky.

"Yes," he said.

She laid her cheek to the big, soft collar.

"It's something I have wanted all my life," she told him.

Micky put out his hand and took it from her. He hated to see her standing there looking so happy because she believed it had come from Ashton; he threw it down on the couch.

"I shall have to be going," he said abruptly. He shook hands with June, but he walked out of the room without speaking to Esther.

"I don't want any dinner," he told Driver when he got in. "I'm going to bed."

Driver opened his mouth to say something and closed it again; he brought the evening papers and his master's slippers and turned to leave the room. At the door he stopped and looked back.

"Have you seen the evening paper, sir?" he asked deprecatingly.

"No," said Micky. Something in the man's voice arrested his attention; he turned in his chair. "Why?" he asked curtly.

Driver came back a step.

"There's a notice of Mr. Ashton's marriage in it, that's all, sir," he said woodenly. "I thought that you'd be interested."



CHAPTER XXII

So it had come at last. Micky sat staring down at the small paragraph which briefly announced the marriage of Tubby Clare's wealthy widow to Mr. Raymond Ashton.

The ceremony, so the paper declared, which had taken place quietly in Paris would be a complete surprise to everybody. Mrs. Clare, as all the world knew, inherited something like L90,000 under the will of her late husband.

Micky whistled softly. Raymond had done well for himself. He would be able to live in luxury for the rest of his life; to discharge all his debts, if his wife chose to allow him to do so; all but one debt—the greatest of them all, and one which he could never hope to liquidate—a woman's broken heart.

Esther—what would she say if she knew? And supposing she knew now——! It was quite likely that a copy of this same paper had fallen into her hands. The thought turned Micky cold; he looked up hurriedly at the clock—not yet eight! On what pretext could he go back to Elphinstone Road?

He threw the paper down and rose to his feet. His gloves! He would make them the excuse—he could go back for his gloves. He taxied down the whole way; he sent his name up to June and waited in the hall. After a moment she came flying down the stairs.

"Micky! Is anything the matter? What in the world...."

He explained in stammering haste.

"Have you seen the evening paper? No, well, take care not to let Miss Shepstone see it. I had to come back and tell you. Ashton—the damned outsider...." He ground his teeth.

"Not dead!" said June with a gasp.

"No—he was married yesterday in Paris."

June sat down on the bottom stair; she felt as if all the strength had gone out of her.

"It can't be true," she said at last. "Why, she had a letter from him only yesterday. Are you sure? It must be another Ashton."

"It isn't—I knew it was coming. He's married Tubby Clare's widow—for her money, of course. If Esther knows...."

"It will break her heart," said June.

There were footsteps on the landing above; Micky glanced up hurriedly.

"Can't we go somewhere and talk? Everybody will hear if we stay here. Where is Miss Shepstone?"

"She's in my room; she's writing to him at this minute——" She broke off, drawing in her breath hard. "Oh, Micky, are you quite, quite sure? I can't believe it." She stared at him for a moment, then she laughed incredulously. "Why, it's only three days ago he sent her that fur coat—and the collar for Charlie. Oh, I'm sure it's a mistake!"

"It's not a mistake," said Micky fiercely; he looked away from her. "Confound it, isn't there a room where we can go and talk?" he broke out again.

She got up from the stairs and led the way across the hall.

"There's the drawing-room. Nobody uses it now because it's so cold." She opened the door and peeped in. "There's nobody there."

Micky followed her, shutting the door behind him. The room was chilly and uninviting, with a lofty ceiling and a hideous wallpaper. There was a gas stove at the far end of the room, turned very low, and hissing softly as if in protest.

June knelt down and turned the tap on to its fullest extent.

"The thing is," Micky said hurriedly, "what are we going to do? If she stays in London, she's bound to hear about it. All the papers will be full of it to-morrow. They'll probably publish his confounded portrait. Can't you get her out of London? We've got to do something."

June did not look at him. The odd little twinge of jealousy tore her heart again. Even though she did not love Micky, she quite realised what she was losing. After all it must be a very beautiful thing to be cared for as Micky cared for Esther.

She raised her eyes with a little ghost of a smile.

"I'll do anything I can, Micky. If you've got anything to suggest——"

"I thought out crowds of plans coming along in the cab, but they're all rotten," Micky admitted dolefully. "I thought you'd be able to help me. Can't you be called off to a relative in the country or something, and ask Miss Shepstone to go with you?"

June started up.

"Of course I can. I've got an aunt down at Enmore. She's always asking me to go and see her. I'll send her a wire. It's too late to-night, but in the morning...."

Micky felt in his pocket for a pencil.

"Give me the address and I'll send it first thing." He paused. "Supposing Miss Shepstone won't go, though?"

"Oh, she'll go," said June quickly. "I'll tell her it means business for me. I'll do the pathetic. I wonder what time there's a train."

"I'll look up all the trains, and arrange everything. Does Miss Shepstone know I'm here now?"

"No——"

"Very well, tell her one of your business agents called, and that you've got to go off early to-morrow. You can write me a note and post it to-night, asking me to see you off. It's quite a usual thing for you to do, you know——"

June smiled rather sadly.

"Poor old Micky!" she said.

Micky frowned.

"Don't talk rubbish," he said rather shortly. "I'd do the same for any one."

June knew it would be useless to contradict.

"If you can keep her out of town for a week it may all have blown over," he went on. "I'll run down and see you if I may——"

"You know you may; but, Micky—don't you think all this is rather mistaken kindness? She'll have to know sooner or later; why not tell her at once? When the letters stop coming she'll begin to worry, and then——"

Micky shook his head obstinately.

"I've my own reasons; be a pal and help me, June."

"Very well, old boy."

She gave him her hand.

"I think you're making a mistake, but I suppose you know your own business best. At any rate, I've warned you."

"You're a dear," said Micky gratefully.

June went to the front door with him; in spite of her promise she was not feeling happy. Esther would have to know. She went slowly back up the stairs.

"It's a mistake," she told herself again, with a sense of foreboding. "Micky's making a mistake."

But she determined to act up to her part. She ran up the last flight of stairs with a great noise and show of excitement. She burst into their sitting-room breathless.

"Such news, Esther! Are you game for a dash down into the wilds of nowhere? I've got to go off on business. One of my agents has just been here. He's made a mess of things, as usual, and I've got to go down and put things right. Oh, it's quite country! I don't know if you like the country. I adore it myself. A place called Enmore. I've got an antediluvian aunt who lives there, and we'll go and foist ourselves on her. She's always asking me to go and see her, so she'll be delighted. Well, what do you say?"

"You haven't given me a chance to say anything," Esther protested laughing. "You're like a whirlwind, sweeping every one off their feet. Where is Enmore to start with? And how can I go? Your aunt doesn't know me."

"She'll love you because I do," said June promptly. "Now don't spoil everything. The greatest fun of it all is rushing off at a moment's notice. I shall send Micky a note to-night and tell him to look up trains for us and come and see us off. Micky's always to be relied on. If I look trains up myself I always go by the wrong ones and never get there." She was sitting down to her desk as she spoke; she looked across at Esther, pen in hand. "Well?" she queried.

Esther looked down at Charlie sprawling in the firelight.

"What's going to become of Charlie?" she asked.

"Lydia will look after him," June said promptly. "She adores cats. That's one excuse surmounted. Any more?"

Esther laughed.

"I should like to come, but——"

"Then that's settled. We'll stay a week if we're not bored to death. It's a desolate spot—just a handful of houses and a haystack and a few things like that, but if you like the country we ought to have a good time. I wish I'd got a car...."

"Isn't it rather a funny place to go to for business?" Esther asked innocently.

"Not in the least," June declared. "All the ingredients for my skin food came from the country—herbs and attar of flowers and all the rest of it. Besides"—she swallowed hard before uttering the biggest fib of all—"my agent lives down there, you see."

"Oh!" said Esther. She was rather pleased at the idea of a change.

"I suppose we can have letters sent on?" she asked after a moment.

June's scratching pen stopped for a moment; then flew on again faster than before.

"Oh, of course!" she said airily.

Her kind heart gave a little throb of pity as she realised that there would never be any letters to send on—not any, at least, of which Esther was thinking.

The phantom lover had gone for ever.

She looked round at the girl pityingly. She looked so happy and unconscious sitting there in the firelight, and all the time if she knew what had just happened over in Paris her heart would surely break.

"Beast!" said June under her breath.

Esther turned.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"I was only talking to the pen," June answered irascibly.



CHAPTER XXIII

Micky turned up at Paddington the following morning laden with papers and chocolates.

"Any one would think we were going to the other side of the world," June told him. "Do you know, my good man, that it's only a couple of hours' run to Enmore?"

"Is it?" said Micky guilelessly. "Well, any way, I'm sure you won't be able to get De Bry's chocolates down there, so they'll come in useful." He looked at Esther. She was wearing the fur coat and a bunch of violets.

"I think it's awfully exciting," she said, meeting his eyes. "We never thought about going till quite late last night, did we, June?"

"Things done in a hurry are almost the most enjoyable," June answered sententiously. "I'm quite bucked at the idea of living the simple life for a few days."

"Pity you haven't got a car down there," Micky said. "There ought to be some fine runs round about."

"So there are," said June promptly. Her queer eyes twinkled as she looked at him. "Micky, would you like to be a perfect dear and come down in yours, and take us out? You can stay at the local inn and play the heavy swell——"

Micky flushed eagerly.

"That's a ripping idea," he said. He turned to Esther: "I'll come like a shot if I shan't be in the way," he added.

Esther smiled; she was surprised to find that the idea was not at all distasteful to her.

"Oh yes; do come!" she said.

June had got into the carriage, and was busy arranging her various possessions.

"You'll be left behind, Esther," she said warningly.

Esther turned at once.

"Good-bye, Mr. Mellowes."

Micky took her hand in a hard grip.

"Good-bye—but only till to-morrow...."

He stood back as the train started; the last glimpse the two girls had of him was his radiantly smiling face.

"Do you know," said June, settling herself in a corner, "I believe I'm half in love with that man, after all. Isn't he just a dear?"

"He's awfully kind," Esther agreed.

* * * * *

When the train drew into the little station at Enmore June looked at Esther with a sort of apprehension.

"It's a most awful one-eyed hole, you know," she said. "I do hope you won't be bored to death. It won't be so bad if Micky keeps his promise and comes down, but if he doesn't...."

"Don't you think he will?" Esther asked quickly.

"Oh, I dare say he will. I hope he will, I'm sure; somebody has got to amuse you while I go and see to my business."

"I can amuse myself."

June sniffed.

"Can you? Well, it's more than I could when I used to stay down here. There's only a church and a village inn and a handful of cottages. My aunt has by far the most distinguished-looking house in the village, and I dare say you won't think much of that."

They were on the platform now, and June eyed their two suit-cases ruefully.

"We shall have to carry them," she said. "No porters or taxicabs here, my dear. Come along."

She grabbed her own, and Esther followed her out into the road.

It was cold but sunny, and the fresh air of the country was something quite different from the chilly, damp atmosphere they had left behind in London.

Esther drew a deep breath.

"It's lovely," she said. "Do you know"—she looked ahead of her down the winding road with a little frown—"I've got the sort of feeling that something is going to happen to me here."

"Goodness!" said June. "Don't you start having instincts too! It's bad enough for me to have them. What can happen to you, pray, unless you get melancholia or something?"

Esther laughed.

It was only a little way into the village; as soon as they came in sight of it June pointed excitedly to a red gabled house just visible through the trees.

"That's where my aunt lives. She's an old maid, you know, and incidentally she thinks I'm a most heaven-born genius. She's nearly sixty, but I'll bet anything you like she uses June Mason's Skin Beautifier."

She paused to open the iron gate of the little garden, but before there was time to ring the bell the door opened and a little lady with grey hair and a wonderful complexion very much like June's stood there with outstretched hands.

"My dears! I never was so delighted! June—after all these months you really have come to see me."

She kissed June heartily and turned to Esther. June introduced them.

"My friend, Esther Shepstone—my aunt, Miss Dearling. I don't know what you think of us for arriving on top of our wire like this," she said, laughing. "But I like to do things in a hurry—so here we are, and we're just starving."

They followed Miss Dearling into a quaint little square room, where the table was laid for lunch. June talked away all the time.

"There's another member of the party coming down to-morrow," she said. "No; a man this time—Micky Mellowes! You remember him? Yes; I thought you would." She flushed a little. "He's going to bring his car down and take us all out for rides; so we're in for a good time."

"I remember Mr. Mellowes quite well," Miss Dearling said. When she was alone with Esther for a moment she whispered to her—

"We all hoped June meant to marry him, you know, my dear. Perhaps she has changed her mind, as she is allowing him to come down. Such a very charming man—have you seen him?—and so rich."

"Yes, I've seen him," Esther said. "He is nice—very!"

"It would be the dream of my life fulfilled if I could see June married to him," the old lady went on. "June wants a firm hand. She is wonderfully high-spirited and clever, you know, but I always feel that she would be so much happier with some one to look after her, and he is just the man to take care of a woman."

"Yes," said Esther.

She felt Miss Dearling glance at her hands.

"Are you—are you engaged to be married?" she asked, after a moment. "Please forgive my curiosity, but I am always so interested in young people's love-affairs...."

Esther coloured.

"Yes, I am engaged," she said. "But he is away just now—abroad. I hope we shall be married as soon as he comes home again."

Miss Dearling said that she hoped so, too; later, when she got a moment alone with June she asked interestedly about the man to whom Esther was engaged.

"I do hope he is nice," she said anxiously. "Such a very charming girl! such a sweet-looking girl! Is he nice, my dear?"

June crossed the room and shut the door; then she turned round with a little grimace.

"He's a pig!" she said.

Miss Dearling screamed.

"Oh, my dear!"

"He is," June maintained stoutly. "She doesn't think so, of course, but he is, all the same." She broke off as Esther came back.

* * * * *

Esther woke in the morning with a pleasurable sense of something going to happen. She lay still for a moment looking round her at the heavy, old fashioned furniture and flowered chintz curtains.

Miss Dearling's house was essentially Early Victorian, from its wool mats and stuffed birds in the sitting-room to the high four-posted bedsteads and faded Brussels carpets.

But there was something very old-world and charming about it too, in spite of rather ugly furniture, and Esther was just admiring the dressing-table, with its petticoat of spotted muslin and pink ribbons, when the door opened and June thrust her head round.

"Can I come in?" She did not wait for an answer, but came in, her long mauve silk kimono making a little rustling sound as she walked.

"I'm really dressed," she explained, sitting down on Esther's bed. "All but my frock, at least, and as the post has just come, and a letter from Micky, I thought I'd come and tell you that he'll be down to-day—after lunch, and he wants us to meet him. I can't go, as I've got a business appointment at three, so you must. He's going to drive up to the station and wait there for one of us to come and show him where we live."

There was a little silence. Esther flushed beneath the elder girl's shrewd gaze.

"I should have thought he could have found out where we live," she said rather awkwardly. "And it's such a little way——"

June rose with a great show of dignity.

"Oh, very well, if you don't want to be obliging, but I do think you might...."

"Silly—of course I will." Esther caught her hand. "I'll go; the station at three o'clock, and then what am I to do? Bring him here, or what?"

"Do what you like, my child—I shan't be in till five. Don't let him be bored, that's all, or he'll go back to town—the one thing Micky cannot stand is being bored."

Esther made a little grimace.

She felt nervous when at five minutes to three exactly she walked down the winding road to the station.

June ought to have come herself, she argued; it was a most silly thing to send her—she hoped he would not come at all; but all the time she was listening for the sound of a car or a motor-horn. The sleepy-eyed factotum of the station walked up and stared at her curiously. After a few turns he ventured to ask if she wanted to go by train.

"No, I'm waiting for a gentleman—I—oh, here he is."

"'Twas her young gentleman for sure," the sleepy-eyed one told his colleague afterwards. "She blushed up like a rose when she saw him."

Micky noticed that blush, too, as he turned the car with a fine sweep and came to a standstill.

Esther greeted him with a torrent of explanation.

"June couldn't come, so she made me—she had to go out on business. She would make me come!"

"It's very kind," Micky said. "I'm later than I expected—the roads are bad down in this part of the world. Well, and how do you like Enmore?"

"It's very quiet, but I like it for a change, and June's aunt is ever so kind."

"Yes, a dear old lady; I know her well. Did you tell her I was coming?"

"June did...."

His eyes swept her face anxiously. No trace of tears or sadness to-day, at all events.

"Are we supposed to go straight home?" he asked after a moment. "Because, if not, what do you say to a run round first?"

Esther's eyes sparkled.

"I should love it!" She got in beside him, and the car started away.

"I only brought the two-seater," Micky explained audaciously. "I hate a crowd. This will take three at a pinch, but it's much more comfortable for two."

"It's lovely!" Esther agreed.

She leaned back luxuriously.

"It must be splendid to be able to have a car like this of your very own," she said suddenly.

Micky laughed rather ruefully.

"There are other things I would far rather have," he said.

"Are there?" She looked up at him innocently. "What things?" she asked.

Micky's hands tightened over the wheel.

"Am I really to answer that question?" he asked.

"No," said Esther hurriedly.

She could not think why she had been so stupid as to say such a thing. She felt very vexed.

They went some way in silence. Esther glanced at the man beside her timidly.

Would he end up by some day marrying June? she wondered. Lucky June, if he did—lucky ... she checked the thought with a little sense of shame. Only a few days ago she had declared that she disliked him. Perhaps it was the car that made her feel so suddenly envious of the woman who would one day be this man's wife.

Micky glanced down at her.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"I am a little"—she smiled up at him—"in spite of my new coat," she said. "I think we had better go home."

June came to the door to meet them.

"I got home earlier than I thought," she told Esther. "Well, Micky?"

"Are there any letters?" Esther asked. She felt a swift feeling of envy as she looked at these two, so openly and unfeignedly glad to see one another. "I suppose it's expecting too much though," she added with a sigh.

June did not answer, and Esther went on and up the stairs.

"There is one for her," June said in an undertone to Micky as soon as she had gone. "And one from Paris, too—from that man! Micky, are you sure it isn't all a mistake about him being married?"

"Sure," said Micky stolidly.

"Then shall I—what shall I do about that letter—it was sent on from London. Ought I to let her have it?"

Micky was taking off his coat, his back was turned.

"Oh, let her have it," he said casually. "It may be the last she'll ever get."

He turned swiftly. "Let me look at it."

June took it from her dress and handed it to him.

He glanced at the writing and gave it back to her.

"Oh yes, I should let her have it," he said again.

But June still hesitated.

"Micky—supposing it's to tell her about—you know ... about this marriage?"

There was a moment's silence.

"Oh, it would hardly be that," Micky said positively. "At least—well, if it is, we must chance it." But his voice did not sound as if he were at all anxious.



CHAPTER XXIV

June raked up another appointment for the following day. "I'm behaving like an angel to you," she told Micky. "Yesterday I tramped about the fields till I was worn out so that I should be out of the way and Esther could meet you. Oh, she didn't want to go at all," she hastened to add as she saw the look of pleasure that filled his eyes. "I had to make her go."

"Yes, I quite believe that," Micky said.

He was standing beside the car at Miss Dearling's gate, and Esther was upstairs putting on her hat. She had protested twenty times that she did not really want to go; she had begged June to take her place; she had implored Micky to take June instead; but they had both refused.

"I'm not keen on motoring when it's cold," June declared. "Besides, I've got my business to see to, and I don't want Micky. You go, Esther, and amuse the poor soul!—just to please me."

Esther said "Very well," and tried to look as if she were not anxious at all, but she was really looking forward to another drive.

"Didn't you really want to come?" Micky asked as they drove away.

Esther laughed. "Of course I did; I wanted to come so badly I had to pretend that I didn't just for decency's sake."

There was a little silence.

"Did you have good news from Paris yesterday?" he asked deliberately.

He felt as if he must speak of Ashton to in some way check the wave of joy that had filled his heart at her words; it was not to be with him that she had wished to come, but for the drive and the comfort of the car.

He saw how her face clouded at his question.

"Yes, thank you," she said, but her voice did not sound very enthusiastic. Presently: "Mr. Mellowes," she said suddenly, "do you know that I have always been sorry that I did not go to Paris that day when I wanted to?—I wish I had now."

"Why now?" Micky asked.

She gave a little troubled laugh.

"I don't know. I really can't explain." She did not understand herself what she really meant, but last night when she had read Raymond's letter, it had suddenly come over her with a sickening feeling of dismay that in some indefinite way he was really getting to be what June had always called him—a phantom lover! It seemed so long since she had seen him. After all, what were letters and words? But she could not explain this to Micky.

"I think I know what you mean," he said after a moment. "You are getting tired of this separation. Is that it? Letters are all very well, but they are not enough...."

She looked up at him in surprise.

"Why, that is just what I do mean? How did you know?"

He laughed rather ruefully.

"Perhaps I've felt like it myself," he said.

"Have you?" There was a little note of wonderment in her voice.

"I said 'perhaps,'" he reminded her.

She changed the subject; she drew his attention to the country through which they were passing. It was bare and wind-swept, but there was a sort of rugged picturesqueness about it that appealed to Esther.

"I believe I should like to live in the country, after all," she said suddenly. "You seem to be able to really breathe down here; it's not shut in like London is."

"Dear old London," Micky said. "We all run it down, but we're all glad to get back there when we've been away for more than a few days." He leaned forward, wrapping the rug more closely round her. "Where do you think you will live when you are married?" he asked.

The hot colour flooded her face; she looked up at him in a scared sort of way.

"What a question! How do I know? I've never even thought about it."

"Haven't you?" said Micky. "I have, crowds of times. I've worked it all out to a nicety. I shall have a house in London and a place in the country as well, so that if my wife doesn't like town we can divide our time and stay six months at each."

"We are not all rich like you are, you know," Esther said drily. "I dare say when I get married—if I ever do—I shall just have a little flat somewhere and stay there for the rest of my life, and be very happy too," she added with a sort of defiance.

"Yes," said Micky after a moment. "I think I could be very happy in a flat, too, for the rest of my life—with the right woman." He looked down at her, smiling thoughtfully "The only trouble is, that I shall probably have to marry the wrong one."

"If you do, it will be your own fault, I should think," said Esther, laughing. She could not quite understand this man. Had he ever really loved her, or had it all just been a pretence?

"No," said Micky promptly. "I think it will be your fault."

Esther raised her eyes slowly. Micky was smiling.

"Yes, I mean it," he said seriously. "The first time I ever saw you I thought to myself, 'Here she is! That right woman I've been waiting for all my life'—but, of course, you didn't think I was the right man, and so that ended it," he added philosophically.

Esther did not like to hear him speak so lightly. She would have been surprised if she could have known the desperate unhappiness in his heart, the bitterness that drove him to speak so flippantly of all that he held best and dearest.

She made no attempt to answer him, and presently he said again with change of voice—

"Are you hungry, I wonder? Because I am! And I've got a firm conviction that we're coming to a wayside inn. Do you see the chimneys through the trees?..."

He slowed the car a little.

"There's another car outside—what do you say? Shall we risk it?"

"It would be rather nice," Esther admitted. She was feeling cold; she was rather glad when the car stopped and Micky gave her his hand.

"They've got a fire anyway," he said cheerily. "I saw it through the window, and we'll ask for some coffee."

He led the way into the parlour. Two men wrapped in heavy coats stood by the fire; they moved to make way for Esther. After a moment they went out of the room, and she saw them in the road bending over the car next to Micky's.

"We can have coffee and buns," Micky said, coming back after a moment. "I don't know what they'll be like, but——"

"I shall enjoy them anyway," she told him. "I really am hungry."

He pulled off his gloves and dragged a chair up to the fire for her.

"This is fine," he said. "Have you ever thought what a novelty a honeymoon would be touring through villages like this? I should like to just start away and go on driving for miles and miles, just staying anywhere and getting meals anyhow."

Esther laughed. "I should have thought it was just the sort of thing you would hate," she said.

"That's where you're mistaken," he told her. "I live in town and in the way I do because people expect it of me, and I'm too lazy to bother to change. It's not a bit the life I should choose if I had my way. I hate dressing for dinner, and wading through six or seven courses, and being bored stiff half the time by some dressed-up woman beside me...."

He looked at her with a comical expression.

Esther leaned her chin in her hand and raised serious eyes to his face.

"Well, how would you really like to live, then?" she asked.

Micky sat down on the edge of the table and stuck his long legs out before him. He kept his eyes fixed on his boots as he answered—

"Well, I should like a place in the country, as I said, and a garden—a ripping garden, with lots of roses and grass—walks like you see in old-fashioned pictures, and a high box hedge—that's one of the things I simply must have! Have you ever smelt a box hedge after a hot sun has been on it? No? well, you ought to; it's fine!"

He paused reflectively.

"I should like to look after the roses myself, I think," he went on presently. "I dare say I should make a mess of it, but I should like to have a try, anyway. And I should like to keep lots of animals, horses and dogs and chickens. Do you know"—he half turned to her—"I've always had a fancy for great Danes—you can't keep 'em in town, only in the country. Some people I once stayed with down in Lincoln had a couple—ripping dogs they were—almost as big as ponies, and they used to let the kids play with them and pull them about. Old Lancing had a boy, you know—a ripping little kid of five—a real sport he was, too—Uncle Micky he used to call me." Micky chuckled reminiscently. "It must be jolly fine to have a youngster of your own like that," he added.

This was a new Micky, indeed! Esther watched him with fascinated eyes. She had not known that he was fond of children; she had taken it for granted that men hardly ever were. She supposed drearily that she had got that idea from Raymond. He had always said he would not stand "kids." It was odd that, though Micky had used the same word, it had sounded somehow quite different when he said it.

Micky raised his eyes suddenly. "What are you thinking about?" he asked.

She shook her head; her lip quivered a little.

Micky half rose to go to her, when the two men who owned the second car came back into the room again. Micky turned on his heel.

"I suppose we ought to be getting on," he said constrainedly. "I'll go and start up; you stay here."

He went out, leaving Esther by the fire.

Her thoughts were a little confused. What had he been going to say, she wondered. It seemed hardly possible that she had really had that little glimpse of the other Micky whom she had never seen before; the Micky who was not at all a man about town, but just an ordinary person who thought it must be fine to have a home in the country and lots of roses and a little son of his own.

The two men behind her were talking together; one of them was laughing a good deal in a sneering way.

"She must be a fool, you know," he said drily. "I'm surprised at any woman being caught like that. It was only her money he was after, of course."

"I've never seen her myself," the other said disinterestedly—he sounded rather bored—"and I only know him slightly. You met them in Paris, you say?"

"Yes—last week." There was the sound of a match being struck and a little pause while he puffed at a cigarette.

Esther turned in her chair; it was odd how the mention of Paris always seemed to grip her heart. She looked at the two men, but they were both strangers to her.

"Perhaps he won't really marry her," the elder one said yawning. "There's many a slip you know, and from what I know of Raymond Ashton——" He shrugged his shoulders eloquently.

The girl by the fire sat very still. She was staring at the two men with piteous grey eyes; she felt as if all the blood in her body had ebbed to her heart, where it was hammering enough to kill her.

Like some one in a dream she heard the laugh the other man gave——

"Not marry her! My dear boy, he must! It's his last chance, and he knows it! He's up to his neck in debt and borrowed money. As a matter of fact, I shouldn't be at all surprised if Tubby Clare's little widow hasn't already changed her name for Raymond Ashton's."



CHAPTER XXV

Outside in the road Micky suddenly started up the engine of his car. The dull throb, throb, came faintly to Esther as she sat there as motionless as if she had been carved in stone.

The little vibrant noise sounded like the beating of some one's heart, she thought dully; she found herself listening to it subconsciously.

The two men behind her had moved out to the doorway; she could still hear them talking and laughing together. Something within her urged her to get up and follow them to tell them that she had heard what they said, to tell them that it was all a lie—a shameful lie. But she could not move.

She told herself that if she kept quite still for a few moments she would wake and find that she had just dreamed it all. She stared hard into the glowing fire, trying to believe that it was all part of her dream, that it was not real warmth which she felt on her face at all, that those leaping flames were only pictures of her imagination, that even if she thrust her hand into them they would not burn her, but would just melt away into the silence around like phantoms.

The phantom lover! June's half-mocking words beat dully against her brain. June had always hated Raymond; she would be glad if this thing were true.

She suddenly realised that she was shivering in every limb. With an effort she dragged her chair closer to the fire. She put out her hands to the flames....

"Good heavens! what are you doing?" said Micky's voice at her shoulder. She had not heard him come into the room; it was only when he bent and caught her hand back from the flames that she realised what she had been going to do. She looked up at him with a sick smile.

"I thought it wouldn't burn," she said stupidly.

A flash of alarm crept into his eyes; she looked so white.

He kept her hand in his holding it firmly.

"What's the matter?" he asked gently.

There was something so kind in his voice that for a moment she felt as if she would have given her soul to have been able to lean her head against his shoulder and sob out the truth; all she had just heard and all the miserable hope and fear that had tortured her for the past few weeks.

"What is it?" Micky said again anxiously.

She dragged her hand free of his; she remembered that he, too, had hated Raymond, that he, too, would be glad when he knew of this nightmare that had suddenly swooped down upon her.

She rose to her feet, holding fast to the chair-back to steady herself.

"There isn't anything the matter; but I should like to go home—I'm tired, that's all; I'm only tired."

She moved away to the door. The cold air beating on her face gave her a grip of herself again. She stood for a moment looking down the deserted street, her hands clenched.

It was only for a little while, just until they got back to Enmore, that she had got to keep up appearances, and then—then....

A sudden wave of tragedy swept through her soul; oh, it could not be true! It was some other man of whom they had been speaking, some other Raymond!

She heard Micky laughing with the landlady as he paid for the coffee and buns, and she felt that she hated him for not guessing how she suffered. She walked down to where the little car stood waiting. If only he would be quick and take her back; she could do nothing till she got back to Enmore, and each moment was so precious.

It seemed an eternity until Micky joined her. He avoided looking at her, though he bent and wrapped the rug carefully over her knees before he took his seat.

The other car with its two occupants had vanished down the road some minutes since; only a small cloud of grey dust on the horizon showed which way they had gone.

Micky drove back faster than he had come. Once or twice he looked down at Esther with an anxious pucker between his eyes.

What had happened in those few minutes to make this sudden change? he wondered.

She had been happy and smiling enough this morning; now all that he could see of her face, half hidden in the big upstand collar of the coat he had given her, were two piteous blue eyes staring steadily ahead of her down the road.

They had gone some miles almost silently when he felt that he could bear it no longer. He stopped the car almost savagely and turned in his seat.

"What's the matter? What have I done now?" he asked roughly. "You weren't like this when we came out. If I've done anything to annoy you...."

She forced herself to laugh. It would be the last straw if she broke down now.

"How absurd!" she said in a high-pitched voice. "Nothing is the matter. I'm tired, that's all; I shall be glad to get home."

He was not satisfied.

"You're not telling me the truth," he said. His mind searched anxiously back to the short time they had stayed in the inn. What could have happened? They had seen nobody there except the two men with the racing car.

"Those two fellows who came in—they didn't annoy you, or anything like that, when I was out of the room?"

She shook her head.

"Of course not; they never spoke to me."

"If you won't tell me what I've done, how can I hope to put things right?" he said.

It was always like this, he told himself savagely; one little step onward and a dozen back. He did not speak again till they got home.

Esther got out of the car without waiting for him, and went on into the house.

After a moment Micky followed.

Esther was in the hall; she turned to him impatiently.

"Every one is out," she said. "Miss Dearling and June are both out."

There was a sort of strain in her voice which Micky could not understand. She looked as if she had had some bad shock, and yet what could have happened? He had not left her for more than a few minutes.

"Very well, I won't wait," he said formally. He spoke curtly; he felt sore enough; he raised his hat stiffly and turned away.

He looked back once at the little house. He thought perhaps Esther might be standing at the door in case he should turn, but the door was shut, and it was impossible for him to guess that upstairs in the room over the porch Esther had shut and locked the door and was pacing up and down the room, her hands pressed hard against her eyes, sobbing—great tearless sobs that seemed to rend her very heart.

"It's not true—it's not true," she said over and over again under her breath. "It's not true—it's not true...."

The striking of a church clock in the village seemed to rouse her. June would be back soon, and Miss Dearling.

She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief; they felt hot and burning. She looked at herself anxiously in the little mirror—such a white face; she turned away impatiently.

Twelve o'clock; there was a train up to town at half-past, she knew. The confusion in her brain seemed to have passed all at once; she felt quite calm and clear.

She would go to Paris—she would see Raymond, and hear from his own lips what a lie it was. She ought to have gone before. She had been a fool to listen to Micky; of course he would not wish her to go.

She put a few things into a bag. She took the last letter she had had from Raymond, and kissed it before thrusting it back into her dress; she scribbled a pencil note to June and fastened it to the pincushion.

With the little suit-case in her hand she went downstairs and out into the street.

There was nobody about, and she almost ran to the station. The porter who had witnessed her meeting yesterday with Micky stared at her wonderingly.

The London train was due now, he told her. She'd have to hurry.... She was gone before he finished his slow speech.

She found an empty carriage and got in, sitting as far away from the door as possible in case any one should come along the platform and recognize her. It was only when the train started away that she leaned back and closed her eyes.

"I am going to Paris; I can't live without him any longer. Please don't worry." Over and over she found herself repeating these words in her brain. She wondered where she had heard them and what they really meant.

"I am going to Paris; I can't live without him any longer."

They were true anyway. She was going to Paris because she felt she could no longer live without Raymond.

She opened her eyes with a little gasp; they were her own words. She remembered that she had written them in the note she had left on the pincushion for June.

Poor June! She would be angry. And Micky.... A little throb touched her heart. She had not been very kind to Micky. She hoped he would soon forget her. Her eyes closed again.

How long did it take to get to Paris? She had not the least idea. She had not got much money with her; she tried to remember how much, but somehow her brain refused to act; she took out her purse and tipped its contents into her lap. She started to count it, but after a moment she gave it up with a helpless feeling and put it all back again.

"Tubby Clare's little widow...." Who was Tubby Clare? she wondered. She laughed foolishly. What a name!

But he had left his widow a great deal of money, and money was everything nowadays. Nobody could be happy without money; Raymond had told her that months ago; a man with money has the whole world at his feet, so he had said.

She thought of Micky—he was one of the richest men in London, and yet he was not happy. She had never thought that he looked happy; she wondered if it was really because he loved her.

She wished she could stop thinking. She was so tired, she wanted to sleep; but the wheel of thought went on and on in her brain.

The miles seemed to crawl by. Soon the fields and open country were left behind; the houses were closer together; presently they crowded one another, almost jostling each other out of the way, it seemed.

What an ugly place London was. She sat up with a little shiver. Strange how cold she felt, and yet her head was burning hot.

Would this journey never end? Surely they had been travelling for days and days already.

The train stopped with a jerk.

"Paddington ... all change—all change...."

Esther stumbled to her feet.



CHAPTER XXVI

Micky had just reached the unpretentious inn in the village where he had taken a room, when he was hailed from across the road by June; a very cheerful looking June, in a business-like coat and skirt of rough tweed, and carrying a walking-stick, which she proceeded to wave at him vigorously.

"Back so soon!" She came across to where he stood by the car, and looked at his despondent face. "Not another row?" she demanded tersely.

Micky frowned.

"No—merely a sort of frigid silence this time," he said savagely, then he laughed. "It's no use, June, I may as well throw up the sponge. I seem to put my foot in it whatever I do."

June drew a pattern in the mud at her feet.

"Well, what have you done?" she asked. "Esther was all right this morning, and quite pleased to be going with you. I certainly never expected to see either of you till this afternoon. Where did you go?"

Micky shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, some little one-eyed place. We stopped at an inn and had some coffee, and that seemed to finish it."

"What, the coffee?" asked June with a twinkle.

Micky turned away.

"If you're going to make a joke of everything——" he said with dignity.

She laid her hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry, old boy. But you do explain things so badly, you know. You had coffee at the inn, yes—and then——"

"I went outside to start up the engine, and when I came back she seemed to have utterly changed. She even looked different and she hardly spoke all the way home."

"It must be your imagination."

He shook his head.

"No, it isn't; and when we got home she went indoors without even saying good-bye—confound her!" he added in savage parenthesis.

"Oh, Micky!" said June reproachfully.

He coloured.

"I didn't mean that, but I'm so fed-up with everything——" He leaned his elbow on the side of the car and looked away from her down the road. "I think I'll get back to town this afternoon," he said after a moment. "I was a fool to come at all."

June looked at him silently.

"Well, what are you thinking?" he asked.

She roused herself and answered briskly.

"I think you want your lunch, that's what I think, and I'm going to take you back with me to have some. Aunt Mary is expecting you——" Her queer eyes twinkled. "Micky, she's quite made up her mind that you've come down here after me."

Micky laughed ruefully.

"It would be a dashed sight better for me if I had," he said.

He moved to the door of the car.

"Jump in, and I'll drive you back. I'm not sure that I shall stay to lunch, though——" he added darkly.

"Oh yes, you will," June said. "And when you see Esther you'll find that it was just imagination on your part—why, only coming down in the train the other morning she agreed with me that you were a perfect darling—she did, on my word of honour!"

When they reached the house Micky meekly followed June into the hall.

"The table's laid," she informed him. "I'll just go and take off my hat and find Esther and Aunt Mary. Go in, Micky."

Micky took off his hat and coat and obeyed.

He looked several sizes too large for the little dining-room as he walked over to the fire and stood with his back to it; he looked round the room appreciatively.

This was a real home, he thought with sudden wistfulness in spite of its small rooms and general atmosphere of a bygone decade; a man could be very happy here with a woman he cared for.

"Micky—Micky——" called June urgently. She came clattering down the stairs anyhow—she burst into the room, she thrust a scrap of paper into his hand.

"She's gone—she's gone! Oh, what fools we've been! I told you what it would be. I knew she'd find out sooner or later. Oh, why didn't you let me tell her?—I begged you to let me. It's not my fault. I warned you what it would be—oh dear! oh dear!" and June fell into a sobbing heap on the uncomfortable horsehair couch behind her.

Micky stood clutching the paper and staring at her; it was some minutes before he could find his voice, then he went over to where she lay, put his hand on her shoulder, and shook her almost roughly.

"What are you talking about, June? For heaven's sake sit up and behave like a rational woman. Who's gone? What do you mean?"

She raised her tear-stained face.

"Read it! read it! Oh, Micky, you have been a fool!" she said furiously. "It's all your fault. I knew what would happen——"