a hand on her arm and said in an odd, gentle voice that was
strangely unlike her own brisk tones:

"And do you mean to say that you don't just think him the finest man
in all the world?"

Esther sat up with sudden passion.

"I didn't think of him at all--it was like having a knife turned in my
heart when I knew," she said wildly. "Oh, you can't understand if
you've never cared for anybody what it feels like to know that you've
been made a fool of. When he told me I felt that I hated him--there
didn't seem anything fine or good in what he had done; I only knew
that I'd been played with, made fun of...." She stopped, sobbing
desperately, but for once June attempted no consolation. She was
looking at Micky's portrait on the shelf, and there was a wonderful
tenderness in her queer eyes.

"Who told you?" she asked then. "Who told you that it was Micky?"

"He did--he only told me when he knew why I was going to Paris--he
told me in the train. It's been from Mr. Mellowes all along--the money
I've had every week--my clothes--this coat ... he's been paying for my
food, and for me to live here...." She raised her eyes to June's face.
"Did you know?" she asked shakily. "He said you didn't, but
somehow...."

June rounded on her angrily.

"If Micky said that I didn't, that ought to be good enough," she said
curtly. "And of course, I didn't know--if I had, I should have told
him that he was a fool to waste his time and money on a girl who
thought nothing of him," she added flatly. Her voice changed all at
once. "Oh, isn't he just splendid!" she said emotionally. "I don't
understand it in the very least, why he has done it, or how he managed
it, or anything, but I think it's the finest thing in all the
world----" Esther turned away.

"I knew him before we met here--he wanted to tell you, but I asked him
not to----" She stopped and dragged on again.

"I met him on New Year's Eve--I was so miserable--there seemed nothing
to live for, and he was kind and so ... so ... I told him a little of
what was wrong, and I suppose he guessed the rest."

"And when he went to Paris that time it was all for your sake, and it
was for your sake he kept coming here--oh!"--June rose to her feet
with a gesture of intolerance--"if you don't just adore the ground he
walks on," she said, "you ought to, and that's all I've got to say."

Esther made no answer; she was looking into the fire with eyes that as
yet saw only the ruins of a dream that