etter like I had this morning? There was
something in it that seemed to put everything right straight away;
something that I've always wanted before and never had. I can't
explain it any better than that, but perhaps you understand. I'm just
telling you because I feel so happy I must tell somebody, and because
I didn't want you to misjudge him as I did yesterday. I thought he
didn't really care, and I wanted to die, but to-day, when his letter
came----" She broke off into a little happy laugh.

Micky had rammed his clenched hands into his pockets; the blood was
hammering in his temples; his brain felt in a whirl; somehow in all
his wildest imaginings he had never dreamed of this.

It was his letter that had brought that new look of happiness to her
eyes! His letter which perhaps even then lay against her heart; the
first love-letter he had ever written to any woman, and she believed
it to have been written by Raymond Ashton!

He did not realise how long he sat there without speaking till Esther
spoke to him again. There was a little anxious note in her voice.

"I'm afraid I've bored you horribly with all this. I know it's no
interest to you, but I felt that I must tell somebody."

Micky roused himself with an effort.

"It's of great interest to me," he said. "And you mustn't ever say a
thing like that again. We're going to be friends, and real friends are
always interested in everything that concerns the other. I'm more glad
than I can say that you're happy. I only hope it's going to last for
ever."

Perhaps there was a dubious note in his voice, for an anxious gleam
crept into the girl's eyes.

"You sound as if you don't think that it will," she said quickly.

Micky made a hurried disclaimer.

"I do think so, of course I do! You deserve all the happiness you can
get, and whoever the man is, if he doesn't make you happy----"

He stopped, with frowning memory of Ashton and their parting only last
night.

He hoped in his heart that they would never meet again; if they did,
he realised that there would be quite a few nasty things he would feel
called upon to say to him.

The waitress brought the bill at that moment and put an end to further
conversation, for which he was thankful. He realised that he was
getting rather out of his depth. He breathed more freely when they
were safely out in the street.

"And where is the new boarding-house?" he asked presently. He wanted
to change the subject; every moment