“Before we go any further I think we ought to know one another’s names.” He fumbled in a pocket for a card, but changed his mind quickly, remembering that his cards bore the address of the expensive flat which he honoured with his presence. “My name is Mellowes,” he said. “I’ve got several Christian names as well, but people call me Micky....” He waited, looking at her expectantly. “Won’t you tell me yours?” he asked.
She was staring down at her plate. He could see the dark fringe of lashes against her cheeks. Suddenly she looked up.
“Why do you want to know my name? We shall never meet again, I–––”
Micky leaned a little forward.
“If we don’t,” he said quietly, “it will be the greatest disappointment I have ever had.”
She looked at him with a sort of fear.
“You don’t mean that,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “You don’t really mean that ... you’re just one of those men who say things like that to every woman you–––” She broke off, struck by the chagrin in Micky’s face. “No––I oughtn’t to have said that,” she went on hurriedly. “I beg your pardon ... I ought not to have said it, and I will tell you my name if you really want to know. My name is Esther––Esther Shepstone.”
“Thank you!” said Micky. “And now we’re going to drink to good resolutions for the New Year ... have you made one yet?”
She shook her head.
“What’s the use? Besides ... I don’t want to make any.”