Esther slept through the long journey fitfully--she was mentally and
physically exhausted. She was only thoroughly aroused by people out in
the corridor moving about collecting bags and baggage.
She opened her eyes with a confused feeling--the train was slackening
speed, and Micky stood in the doorway.
"We are nearly in," he said.
The train was almost at a standstill.
"Calais! Calais!"
Esther rose to her feet--her limbs were trembling, and her head ached
dully.
Micky took her suit-case from the rack.
"You'd better fasten your coat," he said casually. "It will be cold on
the boat."
She looked at him half fearfully. Was this the same man who had
followed her from Enmore with such passionate haste and eagerness? He
was perfectly undisturbed now at all events, he seemed even to avoid
looking at her.
When they got on board he found her a chair on the leeside of the
boat.
"Are you a good sailor?" he asked.
"I don't know. I've never been any distance until yesterday."
"You'd better stay here; it's preferable to that stuffy cabin."
But he left her alone almost the whole time, though she knew that he
walked up and down close to where she sat. She could see the glow of
his cigar through the darkness and hear the slow sound of his steps.
She tried to think things over quietly as she sat there, but
everything seemed so unreal, and most of all the fact that Micky had
once professed to love her.
In the train he left her to herself till they reached London. He was
sure she "did not want to be bothered," he said, and he was going to
smoke.
Esther felt a little pang of disappointment. It seemed a long time
till the train steamed fussily into Charing Cross; and the old weary
feeling of loneliness had settled again upon her heart by the time
Micky came to the door of the carriage.
"June is sure to be somewhere about," he said laconically. "Will you
stay here while I see if I can find her?"
She took a hurried step forward.
"No, I'll come with you."
She felt afraid of June's kindly quizzical eyes; June who knew why she
had run away to Paris, and what had been awaiting her there.
She touched Micky's arm--the eyes she raised to his face were
troubled.
"When shall I see you again?" she asked falteringly.
He half smiled.
"Why do you want to see me again?" he questioned gravely. "You can
have no use for me--after this!"
Esther flushed painfully. Through the crowd she saw June pushing
towards them. This was the last moment she would have with Micky, she
knew, and in a flash something seemed to tell her what this man had
meant to her during the last two terrible days.
"Oh," she said tremblingly, "if you only would let me thank you."
Micky laughed harshly--
"I hate thanks," he said.
June was upon them; she seized Esther and kissed her rapturously.
"You darling! You'll never know how glad I am to see you. I've been
here for hours. Aren't you dead tired? Micky, she looks worn out."
"Does she?" said Micky.
He was dead beat himself; he looked round vacantly.
"I wired Driver--I thought he'd be here...."
"Here, sir," said a voice at his elbow, and there was Driver, stolid
and impenetrable as ever.
Micky was unfeignedly glad to see the little man; for almost the
first time in his life he realised that sometimes dullness and
short-sightedness are a blessing in disguise. Apparently to
Driver there was nothing odd in this mad rush over to Paris; his
expressionless eyes saw the untidiness of his master' toilet without
changing.
"I've brought the car, sir," he said.
"Good man; get me a taxi, then. You must take the car down to your
rooms," Micky said to June. "No, don't argue; I insist----"
He put the two girls into the car; he did not look at Esther, though
he squeezed June's hand when he said good-bye.
"Let me know if you get back all right; I shall see you soon."
He raised his hat, stood aside, and the car started forward.
June looked at Esther with a sort of shyness. It seemed as if years
must have passed since they were down at Enmore.
The car had rolled out of the station and into the heart of London
before either of them spoke; then Esther said, stiltedly:
"It was kind of you to come."
June flushed.
"It wasn't kind at all," she said bluntly. "You're my friends, or, at
least, you were, and, as for Micky--well, I love him."
There was a sort of defiance in her voice. She had seen the tired,
strained look in Micky's face, and she was nearer being angry with
Esther than she had ever been, but she turned and took her hand.
"Somehow I never thought I should see you again," she said, with real
emotion. "I haven't slept a wink since you went away."
"You're much too good to me," Esther said. "Everyone is much too good
to me."
"I think Micky is, certainly," June agreed exasperatedly. "The man's a
perfect fool to run about like he does after a woman who doesn't care
two hoots about him.... There! now I oughtn't to have said that.
Esther, if you're crying...."
Esther had covered her face with her hands.
"I'm not crying," she said in a stifled voice. "But I'm so ashamed. I
don't know what you must think of me--it's so--so humiliating."
"It's nothing of the kind," June declared. "The only mistake you've
made is to put your money on the wrong man, if you'll excuse the
expression. Raymond Ashton was always an outsider.... There! I won't
say another word. You've come home, and that's all that matters."
It was only when they were safely up in the room with the mauve
cushions that she flung her hat down on the sofa and drew a long
breath.
"Well, I never thought we should be here together again," she said
tragically. "It seemed like the end of everything when I found your
note on the pincushion. I don't know what I should have done if it
hadn't been for Micky."
"I don't know what I should have done either," Esther said. She met
June's eyes and flushed crimson. "I've been horrid about him, I know,"
she added bravely. "And now I'm sorry."
June said "Humph." She sat for a moment staring at the floor, then she
got up and searched for the inevitable cigarettes.
"You ought to go to bed," she said in her most matter-of-fact tone.
"Where did you sleep last night?"
"Nowhere--at least--we were in the train all night. I did sleep a
little, but...."
June took her by the shoulders.
"Off you go to bed, and don't argue. I've had a fire put in your room,
and Charlie is there with a new bow on. I'll come and tuck you up when
you're ready, and...."
But Esther refused to move.
"I couldn't sleep if I went to bed. I want to tell you about--about
what's happened...." She paused breathlessly, but June was not going
to help her.
"I don't want to hear anything," she said flatly. She looked at Esther
and saw the tears in the younger girl's eyes. She put an arm round
her, drawing her down to the sofa.
"Tell me all about it, then," she said. "I'm just--just longing to
know."
"But there isn't much to tell, except----" Esther held out her left
hand. "I'm not engaged any more," she said with a faint attempt to
laugh. "He--Mr. Ashton--is married...."
"I know--Micky told me before we went to Enmore. I hope he's married a
vixen who'll lead him an awful dance. It would serve her right to let
her know the sort of man he is--to let her know the sort of letters
he's been writing to you--to show him up properly."
Esther hid her face in the mauve cushions.
"Oh, but he has never written to me," she said chokingly. "I've never
had a letter from him since he went away, and that was on New Year's
Eve. It's all been a mistake--a sham ... he never cared for me--he
never really wanted me...."
June threw away the cigarette and tried to raise Esther.
"What are you talking about? He did write to you--you told me yourself
that he wrote beautiful letters--he sent you that money--Esther! what
do you mean?"
Esther looked up; for a moment June caught a glimpse of misty, shamed
eyes.
"They weren't from him: those letters--the money never came from him,"
she said in a stifled voice.
"What! My good child, have you gone out of your mind?"
June was a hundred miles from guessing the truth. "If he didn't write
them, then who in the world did?" she demanded crisply. "And if he
didn't send the money, who in the wide world...."
She caught her breath on a sudden illuminating thought.
"Esther ... not--not--Micky!"
"Yes." It was the smallest whisper, and it was followed by a tragic
silence; then June got up and began walking aimlessly about the room;
she felt as if she had been robbed of all breath.
Twice she turned and looked at Esther's huddled figure, then she went
back, laid a hand on her arm and said in an odd, gentle voice that was
strangely unlike her own brisk tones:
"And do you mean to say that you don't just think him the finest man
in all the world?"
Esther sat up with sudden passion.
"I didn't think of him at all--it was like having a knife turned in my
heart when I knew," she said wildly. "Oh, you can't understand if
you've never cared for anybody what it feels like to know that you've
been made a fool of. When he told me I felt that I hated him--there
didn't seem anything fine or good in what he had done; I only knew
that I'd been played with, made fun of...." She stopped, sobbing
desperately, but for once June attempted no consolation. She was
looking at Micky's portrait on the shelf, and there was a wonderful
tenderness in her queer eyes.
"Who told you?" she asked then. "Who told you that it was Micky?"
"He did--he only told me when he knew why I was going to Paris--he
told me in the train. It's been from Mr. Mellowes all along--the money
I've had every week--my clothes--this coat ... he's been paying for my
food, and for me to live here...." She raised her eyes to June's face.
"Did you know?" she asked shakily. "He said you didn't, but
somehow...."
June rounded on her angrily.
"If Micky said that I didn't, that ought to be good enough," she said
curtly. "And of course, I didn't know--if I had, I should have told
him that he was a fool to waste his time and money on a girl who
thought nothing of him," she added flatly. Her voice changed all at
once. "Oh, isn't he just splendid!" she said emotionally. "I don't
understand it in the very least, why he has done it, or how he managed
it, or anything, but I think it's the finest thing in all the
world----" Esther turned away.
"I knew him before we met here--he wanted to tell you, but I asked him
not to----" She stopped and dragged on again.
"I met him on New Year's Eve--I was so miserable--there seemed nothing
to live for, and he was kind and so ... so ... I told him a little of
what was wrong, and I suppose he guessed the rest."
"And when he went to Paris that time it was all for your sake, and it
was for your sake he kept coming here--oh!"--June rose to her feet
with a gesture of intolerance--"if you don't just adore the ground he
walks on," she said, "you ought to, and that's all I've got to say."
Esther made no answer; she was looking into the fire with eyes that as
yet saw only the ruins of a dream that had been so beautiful, the
rapidly receding shadow of the man whom she had once made a giant
figure in her life.
"I never want to care for any one again," she said presently in a hard
voice. "You told me once that people were happier if they didn't love,
and I think you were right."
"I was an idiot to ever say such a thing," June cried in a rage. "And
you're a bigger idiot if you pretend to think I was right. There's
nothing better in the whole world than being loved----" Her face
flushed like a rose. "If Micky had cared for me even a quarter as well
as he does for you I would have married him, and that's the truth,"
she declared. "It was only because I knew he hadn't anything except
friendship to offer me that I knew it wasn't fair...." She tried to
cover the seriousness of her words with a laugh. She lit another
cigarette. "And now, having got rid of my heroics, let's talk sense,"
she added more calmly. "But you ought to go to bed. You look worn out.
You'll be a wreck in the morning."
"I don't want to go to bed. I have such a lot to tell you. I shall
have to leave here, of course; I haven't got any money. I must try and
find a post. I thought of asking Eldred's to take me back; there might
be a vacancy now...." But her voice sounded weary and hopeless.
June swooped down on her.
"You poor tired baby, come along to bed and don't worry any more.
You've got me whatever happens, and if the worst comes to the worst
there's always June Mason's wonderful skin food for both of us to live
on."
They went upstairs together.
"There's nothing like sunshine to put you on good terms with
yourself," she said philosophically. "Whenever I'm in the dumps or
feel that I'm looking particularly plain, I put on my best hat and go
out in the sunshine, and I assure you I'm a good-looking woman when I
come home again."
"You're always better than good-looking," Esther told her.