er coat, but Micky would not have noticed if
she had been shabby, his thoughts were elsewhere. He did not even see
that she wore the bracelet he had given her for a Christmas present,
or remember that he had once told her violets were his favourite
flowers.

He apologised breathlessly for being late.

"I had an appointment," he explained. "Raymond's mother; she wrote and
asked me to call this afternoon." He hesitated, then added, "Did you
know that Raymond is going to be married? Oh, but, of course, you
cannot know, as Mrs. Ashton only knew this morning."

Marie's dark eyes opened; like most women, she loved to hear of an
engagement or marriage.

"Really?" she said. "At last!--not to--surely not to that little girl
at Eldred's?"

Micky flushed angrily. Did every one know about Esther? he asked
himself savagely. He answered shortly that it was to Mrs. Clare, Tubby
Clare's little widow.

Marie looked amazed.

"But we all thought----" she said, then stopped, remembering that
Micky and Raymond had been great friends. "I hope he'll be happy," she
said lamely.

Micky laughed shortly.

"I don't," he said. "He doesn't deserve to be."

She made no comment.

There was an excited flush in her cheeks, and a nervous note in her
voice when she spoke; it was like old times to be here with him again,
until she met his eyes across the little table, and then it seemed as
if she were looking into the face of a stranger, a man who was like
Micky--enough like him to hurt, and yet not Micky at all.

She aroused herself to amuse him. Micky had always told her she
cheered him up in the old days, but this afternoon he answered her in
monosyllables, and she saw with bitter mortification how often he
looked at the clock. At last she was driven to remark on it.

"Micky, are you in a hurry to get away?"

She asked the question lightly, but there was a strained note in her
voice.

Micky did not look at her.

"No--no, not at all," he said hurriedly. "But I suppose we ought to be
moving soon...." There was a little pause. "It's been nice seeing you
again," he added with an effort.

She sat staring down at her plate. Her pretty colour had faded; she
was very pale, and she bit her lip hard to hide its trembling.

Suddenly she looked up at him.

"Micky--may I ask you a question?..."

"A hundred if you like."

She picked up a teaspoon and twisted it nervously. Micky watched her
with apprehension; he knew what was coming, and