Micky blushed.
“Oh, I say!” he protested. “You don’t call this being kind, do you? I assure you it’s just pure selfishness. I should have spent my evening alone if we hadn’t met––and I hate being alone; I bore myself stiff in five minutes. I’m just––honoured that you should have allowed me to eat my supper with you. If you knew how beastly fed-up I was feeling ... the world seemed a positively loathsome place.”
She laughed; she leaned her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, looking at him with thoughtful eyes.
“Are you poor?” she asked with disarming frankness.
“Poor as a church mouse,” said Micky promptly. “At least”––he hastened to amend his words––“I’m one of those unfortunate beggars who spend money as fast as they get it. I’ve never saved a halfpenny in my life.”
This at least was the truth.
She nodded.
“Neither have I––I’ve never had one to save....”
The despondency was back again in her voice; Micky broke in hastily––