“What the deuce are you doing? I shall miss my train.”

Micky roused himself with a start, and, dropping the letter into his pocket, went slowly out of the room; he felt as if he could not have hurried had his life depended upon it; there was an absurdly cold sort of feeling round his heart.

It was ridiculous, of course; it was nothing to him if the girl with whom he had dined an hour ago loved Ashton; he had never seen her before. That sounded an absurd truth, too; it seemed impossible that until this evening he and she had never met.

“For heaven’s sake, hurry up, man,” said Ashton again sharply.

He was at the bottom of the stairs; the face he turned over his shoulder to Micky looked pale and harassed.

Micky quickened his steps and joined his friend in the porch below; they stood together out on the path waiting for a taxicab.

19

Micky glanced at Ashton with a curious sense of unreality; he felt as if he had never seen him before; it seemed impossible that this Ashton could know Esther––and Charlie!

A taxicab drew up to the kerb; Ashton banged open the door and got in. Micky followed, and they drove some way in silence.

“I’ll take thundering good care I don’t stay away long,” Ashton said suddenly, with a sort of growl. “And if the mater thinks it will make me forget Lallie–––”

“I thought her name was Esther,” said Micky quietly. He was looking out of the window into the starry night.

“So it is––but I always call her Lallie.” He looked at his friend with a sort of vague suspicion. “How do you know what her name is?” he asked.

“I saw it on the letter you gave me.”

Ashton grunted.

“I think it would be better if you posted it to her yourself and have done with it,” Micky said with an effort. “I’m a rotten hand at this sort of thing. It can’t do any good if I go and see her.”

“You said you would go––you might be a sport and stick to your word,” Ashton protested. “I’d do the same for you any day.”

Micky rather doubted it, but did not like to say so.

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