e minutes, there's an angel, and
I'll come back."

She was gone in a flash.

A smiling Lydia showed Micky into the room. Lydia liked Micky; he was
always courteous, and he had been generous with his tips on each
occasion that he had visited the house.

Micky looked a little embarrassed when he saw Esther. He glanced
quickly round the room. "June ... I----"

"She's coming in a moment," Esther explained. "Won't you sit down?"

Micky sat on the arm of the big chair; he was cold; he leaned forward,
rubbing his hands vigorously. Esther watched him critically.

She had told June that she did not consider him in the least
good-looking, but now the thought crossed her mind that this had not
been quite a fair thing.

He was tall and well made, and he had brown hair that grew well about
his temples, and waved slightly where it parted.

His nose was nothing particular and slightly crooked, and his eyes
were nondescript in colour, but kind ... so kind! Esther remembered it
was the first thing she had noticed about him the night they met.

He looked up.

"Well," he said, "have you found another berth yet?"

"I'm going to Mrs. Ashton's," Esther said.

She was amazed at the sudden change in his face; a look of furious
anger flashed into his eyes; he rose to his feet.

"You're not serious?" he said quietly.

Esther laughed; she felt painfully nervous without knowing why.

"Serious? Indeed I am!" she answered. "Mr. Mellowes, what are you
doing?..."

Micky had caught her hands. Jealousy was driving him with whips of
fire--jealousy of this phantom lover, whom he himself had created.

"You're not to go," he said hoarsely. "I--I--I can't bear to think of
you having to work for your living. There's no need--it's all
nonsense. You'd hate being at the Ashtons.... Esther----"

She wrenched herself free; she was white to the lips.

"You must be mad!" she said. "How dare you speak like this? What is it
to you what I do? How dare you try to interfere? What business is it
of yours?"

Micky laughed shakily; he had recovered himself a little now.

"It's everything to me," he said rather hoarsely. "You must know that
it is. Esther, will you marry me?"

If only premeditated proposals were made, there would be few marriages
in the world. Ten minutes ago, when Micky Mellowes walked into the
room, he had no intention of asking Esther to marry him, but now it
seemed as if he had come for that express purpose as he stood there,