“Another of your ‘instinctive hates’?” he asked whimsically.
She nodded.
“I know you don’t believe in them, but....”
“Don’t I?” said Micky thoughtfully. “I’m not so sure.” He looked at his watch. “Well, I must be trotting. There’s nothing else I can do for you, I suppose? No more waifs who want billets...?”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m not––I never laugh at you.” He laid his hand on her shoulder for a moment. “Don’t bother to get up; you look so comfortable ... Good-bye–––”
“Good-bye––and, Micky, don’t make up your mind not to like Esther just because of this afternoon.”
“My dear, I never thought of such a thing,” he protested lamely.
June snuggled more cosily into the cushions.
“Ah, but I know what you are,” she said, for once hopelessly on the wrong track.