she declared.

Micky said formally that he was sorry that she was not well, but that
the weather was enough to kill anybody; he added that he had been in
town since Sunday, but ...

"Four days, and you've not been to see me!" said June. "What a shame,
to neglect us so!"

"I've been busy," Micky defended himself; "I expected to hear you had
gone to Mrs. Ashton's," he said to Esther.

She raised her eyes.

"No--I am going on Monday."

"Oh," said Micky blankly.

June had opened the door and was calling over the balusters to Lydia
for hot water.

"And bring lots of it," she said. "We're thirsty...." She came back
into the room. "The postman's just come," she said with a nod and a
smile to Esther. "Lydia will bring our letters up if there are any."
She turned again to Micky. "Well, truant! And what have you been
doing? Having a good time?"

"No, I have not," Micky said decidedly. "Paris is not what it used to
be, or I am not!" He laughed. "How's the swindle?"

June began to answer, but stopped as Lydia came into the room. She
brought a jug of hot water. June danced up to her.

"No letters? I thought I heard the postman."

"One for Miss Shepstone," Lydia said smilingly.

Micky looked across at Esther--her whole face was transformed as she
turned eagerly with outstretched hand.

There was a moment of silence, then she gave a little sigh of utter
contentment. June sniffed inelegantly--Micky looked hard into the
fire; his heart was thumping; that letter ought to have been delivered
yesterday, he knew; it was cursed bad luck that it should arrive while
he was here.

There was a little silence in the room while Esther opened it. She
seemed to have forgotten that she was not alone. Her pale cheeks were
flushed and her whole face tremulous.

June was bustling about, making a great clatter with the teacups.
Micky got up and began to prowl round the room; his nerves felt jumpy.
Because he knew so well who had written that letter he was sure every
one else must know it too. Presently June nudged him as she passed.
When he looked at her she made a little grimace.

"Isn't it awful?" she said in a stage whisper.

Micky smiled stiffly.

"Can't I help get the tea?" he asked. "Toast some buns or something?"

"There aren't any to toast," she told him. "Sit down and make yourself
at home. Esther!"--she raised her voice elaborately--"are you going to
have any tea, my child?"

Esther had come to the end of her lette