though.

He ended up by hoping formally that she and Charlie were quite well
and comfortably settled into their new home, and he signed himself:
"Yours very sincerely, Micky Mellowes."

When he had finished the letter, he realised that he had written it on
his own heavily embossed writing paper, so he had to dig Driver up and
borrow a cheap sheet of unstamped grey paper and write it all out
again. Then he went out and posted it himself.

As soon as it had gone he wished he had sent it by hand; it meant such
a deuce of a time to wait for a reply; he calculated that he could not
possibly hear before to-morrow night.

But in this he was pleasantly disappointed, for his own letter reached
the boarding-house in Elphinstone Road that night, and Esther's reply
was waiting for him with the kidney and bacon in the morning.

Micky's heart began to thump when he saw the letter beside his plate;
he had never seen Esther's handwriting, but he knew by instinct that
it was hers. He scanned the first lines eagerly, and his face fell.

"DEAR MR. MELLOWES,--Thank you for your letter. I am sorry, but I
cannot come out with you, either to dinner or to a theatre.--

Yours very truly, ESTHER SHEPSTONE."

Micky's face was pathetic in its disappointment. He read the few curt
lines through again and again, vainly trying to find something more
behind the unmistakable refusal, but there it was in all its bald
decision.

She did not want to go out with him any more; she did not care if she
saw him again or not.

Micky left his breakfast, he no longer had any appetite. He had never
had such a snub in all his life--out of his disappointment anger was
rising steadily; she had no right to snub him like that without a
reason.

Driver, coming into the room at that moment, saw the untouched
breakfast and halted midway between door and table to stare at his
master.

Micky stood with his hands deep thrust into his pockets, glowering
into the fire. Driver advanced a step.

"Beg pardon, sir--but wasn't you well?" he asked stoically.

Micky began to swear, then his mood changed and he laughed.

"Yes, I'm all right----" He hesitated. "Driver, would you like to go
to Paris?"

Driver raised wooden eyes.

"Anywhere you wish, sir," he answered, in his usual expressionless
voice. "When were you thinking of starting, sir?"

"I'm not thinking of starting at all," said Micky. "I want you to
go--alone! You've