on 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 A