"You'd better dine with us," Ashton said, but he did not sound very enthusiastic.

Micky laughed. "Thanks, but I have dined. I was just leaving when you came in." He thought of Esther, and his face hardened. This was the man of whom she was thinking all day and every day; this man who was so obviously going to try and marry Tubby Clare's little widow.

He stood talking to them for a few moments, then excused himself.

"You haven't told me where you are staying," Ashton said.

"No--and I'm going away to-morrow anyway.... When are you coming back to town?"

Ashton looked quickly at his companion. "Oh, not yet awhile," he said.

"I see." Micky met his eyes steadily. "By the way, I got your letter,"

he said after a moment. "You didn't ask about that letter you gave me.

I posted it----"

Raymond turned crimson. "The letter--oh yes, thanks--thanks, very much. You didn't take it then?"

"No, I posted it." Micky's voice was flinty.

"Er--thanks awfully!" Ashton said again. He twisted his moustache nervously. "I'll see you some other time," he said with a rush. "I'll drop you a line."

"Right oh!" said Micky laconically.

"I hope I shall see you again too, Mr. Mellowes," Mrs. Clare said. She thought she was saying the right thing. She thought these two men were friends, and she was sufficiently in love with Raymond to wish to be liked by his friends.

"Thank you, Mrs. Clare," Micky said stolidly. "But I am going back to London to-morrow; I am afraid I shall have very little time, though I should be delighted, of course----"

He felt rather sorry for this woman. After all, she was harmless and good natured, she deserved a better fate than to be snapped up by a good-looking fortune-hunter.

He was getting into his coat in the lounge when Ashton came after him.

He looked worried and abashed; he asked a hurried question.

"Everything's all right, eh, Micky?--Lallie, I mean--I thought from the way you looked just now--she--she's all right--eh?"

"My dear chap--how should I know? She never answered my letter, though I sent the money, as you wished. I thought you would have heard."

"I told you I didn't mean to write--I said that I wanted the whole affair cut out," Ashton said irritably.

Micky made no response.

"She sure to be all right, anyway," Ashton said after a moment. "If she hadn't I should have heard--eh?"

Micky looked at him coolly.

"You rather sound as if you were expecting to hear she'd done something foolish--jumped off Waterloo Bridge or something----" he said drily.

Ashton laughed. "Well, you never know," he said heartlessly. "Women are such queer creatures--and Lallie was so excitable; she said more than once that she'd do away with herself--it's all rot, of course, but ... what did you say?"

"Nothing," said Micky curtly. "Good-night." He turned on his heel and went out.

CHAPTER XIV

Micky stayed in Paris four days; the four longest days of his life.

He wandered about killing time and wishing everything and every one at the bottom of the sea.

It seemed impossible that he had ever managed to have a good time over here--the noise and bustle of the streets got on his nerves; the things that had always amused him before bored him and left him cold; he thought of London with a deadly sort of home-sickness.

Esther did not mean to write to him, he was sure, and in some ways he hoped she would not; he realised that he was playing a mean trick on her, cheating her out of fond words and a love-letter to which he had not the smallest claim.

He tried to salve his conscience by making up his mind to leave on the Monday morning whatever happened; if there was no letter by that time there would never be one. Esther would have gone to Mrs. Ashton's. It was surprising how much he hated the thought of her being with Raymond's mother. During the interminable hours when he walked about Paris trying to kill time he thought out all manner of possibilities that might result from this unforeseen contingency. Mrs. Ashton might get fond of Esther--and if she got fond of Esther, well--who knew what might happen in the future in spite of Tubby Clare's little widow? He had not run across Ashton again, and he sincerely hoped that he would not.

When Monday morning came he packed his portmanteau before he left his room--there would be no letter for him, so he might as well clear out and go home without making a further fool of himself. There was not the least hope in his heart when he went to the bureau and asked for letters; the reply came as it had done each morning: "Nothing for monsieur...."

Micky turned away. He was half way to the dining-room before it suddenly dawned upon him that they did not know he was expecting letters in the name of Ashton--that he had forgotten to tell them. He went back hurriedly to the bureau.

"Any letters for Ashton?--I am expecting one for a friend of mine of that name...."

He waited breathlessly while the girl sorted through the pigeon-holes on the wall; he felt as if he could hardly breathe when she came back with a grey envelope in her hand.

"Mais oui...." she said smilingly. "I did not know it was for monsieur...."

Mickey almost s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her; he had not even glanced at the writing, but he knew it must be from Esther. He sat down at the breakfast table with his thoughts in a whirl; he was sure that the waiter must know how excited he felt. He ordered coffee and rolls before he opened the envelope; he laid it down on the cloth beside him and stared at it very much as a sentimental girl might stare at her first love-letter, hesitating to open it, wishing to prolong the ultimate delight.

Finally he cut it open carefully and drew out the contents. His pulses were racing, he did not know if shame or delight were the greatest emotion in his heart; he glanced at the first two words and the blood rushed to his face.

It seemed almost sacrilege to read what she had written to the man she loved--he pushed the paper back into its envelope--he did not look at it again till he had finished his pretence of a meal, then he took it out with him into the rather dingy winter garden and sat down in the quietest corner he could find.

There he faced the greatest moment of his life; as to whether he should go on with this thing or wipe it out of his life once and for all.

Ashton had done with Esther; he was as sure of that as he was sure that Ashton meant to marry Mrs. Clare. This being so, was it wrong of him to try and give Esther some happiness in place of what she had lost? She had refused to marry him--she had said that she could never care for him; could he hope to make her change her mind? In his heart he was sure that he could; he wanted her so badly that it seemed to him as if the very force of his desire must compel some return from her.

He sat staring down the dismal garden with moody eyes. He knew it was a big risk; he thought of her as he had first seen her and as he had last seen her. He had never once really thought that she looked happy--she had never quite lost the shadow in her eyes or the droop to her lips which he had at first noticed, and he wanted her to be happy.

He wanted her happiness far more than he wanted his own.

He took the letter from his pocket and looked at the address on the envelope. "Raymond Ashton, Esq...."

He hated the sight of that name--some day Esther would hate it too, when she knew how he had deceived her.

It was a great risk--but ...

"I'll chance it," said Mickey under his breath, and drew out the letter again.

"MY DARLING BOY,--You can never know how glad and happy I was to get your letter to-night and to know that I can really write to you at last. I have been so miserable during these weeks in spite of all your goodness--and you have been good. It makes me feel mean and ungrateful now when I remember how horrid I often was to you before you went away. When you come back I will make it all up to you, and show you how nice I really can be, because I do love you--I have never loved any one but you. Thank you so much for the money you have sent me--I was very much down on my luck when it came. They haven't a vacancy for me just now at Eldred's, or else they did not want me back, and I am going to try and find another berth. I am living in a new boarding-house, as you will see; it's ever so much nicer than the Brixton Road, and I shall be able to stay on now you are so generously sending me money. I have made a nice friend here, too, a girl named June Mason--she tells me that she knows your mother, and you, too!--I did not let her know how well I knew you, dear, as I thought perhaps you would rather I said nothing about it. She has a man friend who sometimes comes to see her--a Mr. Mellowes--she thinks the world of him, but I think he is detestable...."