will be a new experience for Charlie,” he added with a twinkle.

He put her into the cab, and stood for a moment at the door.

“And the address?” he asked.

She hesitated, looking away from him; then suddenly she told him.

“It’s Brixton Road––it’s––it’s a very horrid boarding-house,” she added with a half-sigh.

14

“Boarding-houses are all horrid,” said Micky cheerily. “But I’ll come down myself to-morrow and see how bad it really is.”

He tried to see her face.

“Shall you be in if I come in the afternoon?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes.”

“About four, then,” said Micky. He groped for her hand, found it, and pressed it. “Good-night,” he said.

“Good-night.”

And the next moment Micky was alone in the starlight.

He stood looking after the taxi with a queer sense of unreality. Had he just dreamt it all, and was there really no such girl as Esther Shepstone? No Charlie? He shook himself together with a laugh. Of course it was real, all of it! He walked on soberly through the cold night.

To-morrow he would go to the very horrid boarding-house in the Brixton Road and see her again.

Esther! He liked her name; there was something quaint and old-world about it. It seemed impossible that they had only met a few hours ago.

His headache had quite vanished. He was whistling a snatch of song when he let himself into the house and went upstairs.

He opened the door of his sitting-room, and then stopped dead on the threshold. The lights were burning fully, and a man was ensconced in his favourite armchair by the fire––Ashton. Lord! he had forgotten all about Ashton.

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