195
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 lives196there, 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.
197
“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.
198CHAPTER 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.
199
“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 country200was 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––Micky201Mellowes! 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!”
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“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....”
203
“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?”
204
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, so205openly 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.
206CHAPTER 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.
207
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 been208away 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 that209drove 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 live210in 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 was211fond 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.
212
“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.”
213CHAPTER 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 her214hand 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 till215she 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?”
216
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.
217
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 very218kind 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.