Part 46 (1/2)

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....”