She took Esther's arm and they went downstairs together.

"Every one knows you're coming," June said as they neared the dining-room. "Every one always knows everything that goes on here.

Don't take any notice if they stare a lot; they must stare at something, poor darlings. I'll tell you who they all are and all about them."

The dining-room was a long, narrow sort of room that looked as if it once had been two rooms recently thrown into one; the floor was covered with slippery green linoleum, and there was a long table running almost the length of the room, with a few smaller ones on either side.

A grey-haired woman with pebble gla.s.ses stood at the head of the long table; Esther recognised her as the proprietress, Mrs. Elders.

She said good-evening to Esther and stared frigidly at June, as if she did not like to see the two girls together. She did not approve of the little face cream lady, though she was careful never to say so, as June was one of her best paying propositions.

Esther was glad when they reached their own table; glad, too, that she was more or less out of the way of curious glances.

The dinner was plain, but infinitely superior to the fare she had had to put up with in the Brixton Road.

"Do you have all your meals here?" she asked June presently.

"No--only breakfast and supper--and not always supper. I go out with friends sometimes. Every one hasn't given me up just because my family have. But the food is quite good here. They're rather too fond of rice and stewed apples; but it might be worse. Turn round presently and look at the man behind you with the grey hair. Isn't he handsome? We call him the colonel, though I don't believe he's a colonel at all.

He's a dear, but he always complains about everything. I know he gives notice regularly on Sat.u.r.day morning and takes it back again on Sat.u.r.day night. Mrs. Elders would think he wasn't well if he missed giving her notice."

She laughed, and turning in her chair spoke to a young man who was sitting alone at one of the smaller tables behind her.

"Is your cough better?" she asked. "I'm going to give you some special stuff to-night for it. No, it isn't at all nasty." She turned back to Esther. "May I introduce Mr. Harley--he's the most interesting person in the whole house. He writes stories and things, Mr. Harley, this is Miss Shepstone--a great friend of mine."

Harley bowed. He was pale, delicate-looking young man with fine dark eyes.

"You never told me that you knew Miss Shepstone," he said to June.

"I didn't know her till this afternoon," she answered promptly; "but I make friends quickly, as you know."

"You'll like Harley," she told Esther presently in an undertone. "He's very clever, but so delicate, poor boy! He ought to live in the country instead of in London. He's the sort of person I should love to help if I were rich."

"It must be wonderful to be rich," Esther said. There was a little flush in her cheeks; she was really enjoying herself. "It's the dream of my life to have enough money to be able to do anything I like," she added earnestly. "Just for a month! If I could be really rich just for one month I wouldn't mind going back to being poor again."

Miss Mason said "Rubbish!" briskly. "Money can't buy happiness, my dear, and don't you forget it. My people think it can, and lots of other people think the same. It only shows what fools they are. It was the money my people couldn't get over when I declined to marry Micky Mellowes...." She made a little wry face. "I remember my mother coming into my room one night in her dressing-gown--poor soul!--when she heard I'd told Micky there was nothing doing, and saying tragically: 'June, you must be mad--stark, staring mad! Why, the man's as rich as Croesus!'"

"Rich!" Esther was conscious of an odd little sinking at her heart.

"Is Mr. Mellowes rich, then?" she asked constrainedly.

Miss Mason was helping herself to a pat of b.u.t.ter. She held it poised for a moment on the end of her knife while she answered--

"Rich? I should think he is! He's one of the richest men in London."

"One of the richest men in London!--but he----" Esther had been going to add "But he told me that he was poor;" she only just checked the words in time.

June nodded.

"He's the despair of all the match-making mammas," she said lightly.

"Over thirty, he is, and still a bachelor! I'm not sure if he isn't on the verge of being caught now, but you never can tell! With a little luck he may escape--she isn't good enough for him, anyway. Have you finished? I'm dying for a cigarette, and we aren't allowed to smoke here. Come up to my room and I'll make you some coffee; the stuff they give us here isn't fit to drink."

She pushed back her chair and rose, and Esther followed.

She kept her eyes down as she walked the length of the room; the colour rose in her cheeks as she realised how every one was staring at her. The colonel, whom June had declared was not a colonel at all, rose and held the door open for them to pa.s.s out.

June chuckled as they went upstairs.

"You've made an impression, my dear! It isn't often he does that for any one." She slipped an arm through Esther's. "Why are you frowning so? Have I said anything to annoy you?"

Esther laughed.

"Of course not. I was only thinking.... Do you--do your friends ever come here to see you?"

She was thinking of Micky Mellowes, and wondering if he ever came to the boarding-house, and if so, why he had not told her that he knew somebody living here. After all, if he had deceived her in one instance he would do so in many others--she felt a curious sense of hurt pride; why had he gone out of his way to tell her he was a poor man, when all the time----?

"To tell you the truth," June said frankly, "none of my friends know where I am living. Call it false pride if you like, but there you are.

I have all my letters, except business ones, sent to my club--I belong to an unpretentious club--I'll take you there some day--and not even Micky knows that I live here. You see, when I flew in the face of providence, otherwise my n.o.ble family, they stopped my allowance, so as I'm entirely self-supporting, I had to be careful and live inexpensively, so I came here. And I'm very comfortable. If I want to meet any of my friends we meet out somewhere. I think it's better; it leaves me quite free...."

They were back in her room again now, and Charlie had looked up with one eye from his mauve cushion, and purred, by way of a greeting.

June lit a cigarette and rushed about in pursuit of the coffee-pot.

All her movements were quick. She seemed to breathe life and energy.

Esther walked over to the fireplace, and found herself looking at Micky's photograph.

After all, he was just like all the other men she had ever known; apparently none of them could be simple and sincere; she supposed it had been his way of condescending to her, to pretend that he was poor and in similar circ.u.mstances to herself; perhaps he had guessed that she would never have allowed him to pay for her supper or tea, or have talked to her as he had done, if she had known him to be a rich man.

She need never see him again, that was one thing; her heart hardened as she met the frankness of his pictured eyes; he was not as honest as he looked.

She had mistaken condescension for kindness. She bit her lip with mortification as she recalled the confidence she had made to him only that afternoon. He was probably laughing at it now, and no doubt would repeat all she had said to his friends as a good joke.

She went to her own room as soon as she had had the coffee. She made the excuse that she was tired, but when she went upstairs she sat down on the side of the bed and made no effort to undress. A sort of shadow seemed to have fallen on her spirits. She felt mortified that Micky should so deliberately have lied to her; her cheeks burned as she thought of the despair she had been in last night when she met him.

She hoped she would never see him again.

She looked round the little room with angry eyes. If only Fate had set her feet in sunnier paths. She looked at the plain furniture and cheap carpet; the wallpaper was hideous; there was a frightful oleograph of two Early Victorian women with crinolines and ringlet curls hanging over the mantlepiece. They both looked smug and self-satisfied. There was an enlarged photograph of a bald-headed man wearing a Masonic ap.r.o.n on another wall. He was fat and had his right hand plastered carefully along a chair-back to bring into prominence a large signet ring. Esther looked at him and shivered. She felt utterly alone and cut off from the world. She longed for Raymond Ashton with all her soul. She hated Micky Mellowes because his kindly condescension had made her feel her position more acutely now she knew him to be what he was.

In spite of the new friend she had made in June Mason she felt lonely and unwanted; she began to cry like a child, as she sat there on the side of the iron bedstead; the tears ran down her cheeks and she made no effort to wipe them away.

She wanted to be happy so badly, and it seemed as if she never was to be happy. The elation that had come to her when she read Micky's letter that morning had faded miserably; after all, what was a letter when it was a real, living personality she wanted, and not mere words?

Downstairs she could hear June Mason moving about and singing; she at least was happy with her little mauve pots and her cheery optimism.

Esther cried all the time she undressed; she crept into bed sobbing miserably, like a child who sleeps at a boarding-school for the first time.

CHAPTER V