and a lot of harmless chaff in consequence; he
himself had joked about Ashton's "latest" as they had all called her:
it seemed a memory to be ashamed of, when he thought of the way he had
heard her sobbing in the street that night, of the distress in her
eyes, of the hopeless way in which she had spoken.

Ashton rejoined him.

"Buck up! The train's in."

They went along the platform, followed by a porter with Ashton's
baggage. Micky looked at it resentfully; Ashton was evidently
prepared to enjoy himself; this was no rush after mere solitude and
forgetfulness.

He stood stiffly at the carriage door while Ashton stowed his smaller
traps on the rack. Presently he came to the window.

"You'll do the best you can, won't you, old man?" There was a real
anxiety in his eyes, but Micky was not looking at him; he answered
stiffly--

"Yes, I'll do what I can."

"She'll soon get another job," Ashton went on, with forced confidence.
"I'm sorry she left Eldred's, now it's come to this, but how was I to
know?" he appealed to Micky, but he might as well have appealed to a
brick wall for all response he got.

"And when I come back----" he said again. "Tell her that when I come
back many things may be all right again ... tell her that, will you?"

"I'll tell her," said Micky stolidly.

The guard was blowing his whistle now, doors were being shut.

Micky roused himself and looked at his friend.

"Are you--er--are you going to write to her?" he asked constrainedly.

Ashton coloured.

"No--it's better not--far better let the thing drop till I come back.
I've explained it all in my letter--she'll understand. It's no use
writing--don't you think it's better not----"

Micky hunched his shoulders.

"It's your affair," he said laconically.

"Yes, well, I shan't write--I'll send you my address as soon as I know
where I'm staying, and you can let me know what she said and how she
takes it.... Oh, confound it!"

A porter had come along and slammed the door; the train was slowly
moving; Micky was vaguely glad that there had been no time in which to
shake hands. A moment, and he was walking away alone down the
platform.

His hands were deep thrust in the pockets of his coat; he took no
notice of anything; he walked on and out of the station.

Well, this had been an eventful New Year's Eve with a vengeance; he
glanced up at the clock in the dome behind him--only a quarter to
twelve now, and yet so much had been crowded into