his heart was beating uncomfortably.

"I'm just going back home," Esther said. "I've been to an agency
looking for a berth."

"A berth!" A frown came between his eyes. "What sort of a berth?" he
asked quickly.

Esther laughed.

"Well, I'm think of taking your advice--and going as companion to an
old lady--not that she's very old," she added doubtfully, with sudden
memory of Raymond's mother.

"You mean that you have decided?"

She hesitated.

"Well, I have the refusal of it." She looked at him with defiant eyes.
"I am only just hesitating--I want to talk to Miss Mason about it--she
is much more worldly wise than I am."

"June is a very sensible woman," he said. "I am glad you like her." He
hesitated. "And the--er--post?" he asked with an effort. "Will it be
in town?"

"Oh yes."

She was obviously not going to tell him any more, but Micky
persevered.

"I wonder if it is likely to be any one I know. I have quite an
extensive acquaintance in London."

"Yes," said Esther. "But I don't suppose you will know these people,
anyway," she added with an unconscious touch of loftiness in her
voice. "The name is Ashton--Mrs. Raymond Ashton."

There was the barest possible silence before Micky answered, a silence
during which the blank dismay and anger that crossed his face would
have been amusing had it not also had something of pathos in it.

"Ashton?" he said. "Oh, yes, I know Raymond Ashton very well." He was
watching her with jealous eyes, and she turned her head sharply and
looked up at him.

Just for a moment a traitorous eagerness crossed her face; he could
almost see the quick question on her lips, then she laughed.

"Really! How funny! But, of course, as you say, you must know a great
many people."

"I have known the Ashtons for years. You will like Mrs. Ashton."

There was a sort of quiet insinuation in the words, and Esther bit her
lip.

"And--the son?" she asked. "I think you said you knew the son."

"Yes, I know him--he is in Paris, I believe."

Micky was conscious of a queer tightening about his throat; it was a
tremendous effort to force himself to speak lightly.

"And shall I like him as well, do you think?" Esther asked deliberately.

Micky did not answer.

"Do you like him?" she persisted.

Micky's restraint broke its bonds; if he had died for it he could not
have checked the words that rushed to his lips.

"I detest the fellow!" he said. "He's a beastly outsider!"

He dared no