There was something so pleasantly familiar about this tramcar ride, the fact of sharing the same uncomfortable seat with Esther Shepstone.

“Penny ones?” the conductor asked.

Micky looked at the girl.

“Where shall we get off?” he asked.

“Penny ones will do,” she said.

Micky took the tickets and pocketed his change.

“I don’t know if there are any decent teashops round here,” he said dubiously. “If you would rather go up to the West End....”

But finally they found a confectioner’s quite close to where the penny fare ended.

Micky looked round critically.

“Is this all right?” he asked. “I’ve never been here before.”

“I have, often,” she said. She was drawing off her gloves.

Micky glanced hurriedly at her hands; she was wearing a ring. Hardly knowing that he did so, he leaned across and touched it.

“Is that an engagement ring?” he asked. His voice sounded a little breathless.

She looked up at him, drawing her hand away.

“Why do you ask me?”

He drew back; he shrugged his shoulders.

“I beg your pardon. I suppose I have no right to ask.”

He ordered tea. He talked rather forced platitudes for the rest of the time. He was just going to call for the bill, when Esther Shepstone said suddenly––

“Mr. Mellowes, I should like to tell you something.”

“Yes!” Micky did not look at her. Somehow he could not trust himself.

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