When he reached it he stood for a moment with the letter in his hand.

“You’re a fool,” he told himself again hardily. “Micky, my boy, you’re a bally idiot, interfering with what doesn’t concern you––with what doesn’t concern you in the very least.”

He looked up at the stars and thought of Esther Shepstone, of her eyes and her wavering smile, and the soft note in her voice as she had asked him––

“Are you always as kind to every one as you have been to me?”

No concern of his! It was every concern of his; he knew that he was only living for the hours to pass before he saw her again. No concern of his! when the greatest miracle of all the world had come to pass during those last hours of the old year, inasmuch that Micky Mellowes, heartwhole and a bachelor for thirty odd years, had been bowled over by a girl without a shilling to her name––a girl who loved another man, but a girl to whom Micky had without wishing it, without knowing it, dedicated the rest of his life!

He was her champion for the future, some one to stand between her and the callousness of the man of whom even now she was probably thinking.

“No concern of mine!” said Micky to himself with fine scorn. “Why, of course it is! Every concern of mine.”

He squared his shoulders and dropped the envelope into the pillar-box.

And so Micky Mellowes posted his first love-letter.

30

CHAPTER III

In spite of the events of the night Micky Mellowes slept soundly. It was half-past nine when he woke, to find his man Driver moving noiselessly about the room.

When he saw that Micky was awake he approached the bed.

“Good-morning, sir, and a happy New Year.”

Driver had an expressionless voice; he announced tea or tragedy in exactly the same tone.

“Eh?” said Micky vacantly; the words opened the door of memory, and he sat up with a start. It was New Year’s Day, and last night ... ye gods! what had not 

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