June made a little grimace.

"I telephoned Micky and asked him to come and make a fourth," she
admitted.

Esther flushed. She looked up eagerly:

"And--and is he coming?"

June shook her head.

"No, he isn't," she said with overdone indifference. "He said he'd got
an engagement already, but between you and me and the doorpost," she
added darkly, "I don't believe it! I think he just didn't _want_ to
come."

"Oh," said Esther faintly. "I expect he has a good many engagements,"
she added after a moment.

June said "Humph!" She recalled the curt manner of Micky's refusal,
and wondered if there had been a more serious rupture between himself
and Esther than she was ever likely to hear about.

"So we shall have to make up our minds to enjoy ourselves without his
distinguished company," she said airly. "I dare say we shall be able
to manage quite nicely. Esther, aren't you going to wear your fur
coat?"

"My fur coat!" said Esther rather unsteadily. "It's not mine."

She was taking from the wardrobe the shabby jacket she had worn the
first night she met Micky; it looked more shabby and unsmart than
ever, but she was going to wear it whatever happened.

She was smarting with humiliation. She had offered Micky her little
olive branch when they parted two days ago at Charing Cross, and this
is how he had accepted it!

"If he's trying to pay me out, I suppose it's only what I deserve,"
she thought miserably, and yet it did not seem like Micky to
deliberately try or wish to hurt or humiliate any one.

She did her best to push the shadow aside. She tried to laugh and talk
with June as they went off to meet Mr. George P. Rochester.

He was a big, bluff man, with a hand-clasp like the grip of a bear,
and a twang that could be cut with a knife.

They lunched at a restaurant which she had never even heard of, though
June seemed quite at home. There were several people at other tables,
whom June knew, and Esther felt very out of it all, and unhappy.

It was a good thing she had refused to marry Micky, she thought with a
sort of anger. She knew none of his friends and nothing of the life to
which he had always been accustomed. She did not realise that it was
the knowledge of her shabby coat that was affecting her spirits more
keenly than anything.

June's clothes were not new, but they had an unmistakable "cut" about
them, and Rochester was exceedingly well dressed.

He talked to June a great deal. Once or twice