“He’s that insufferable kind of creature who thinks himself irresistible,” June went on. “Micky has often told me the way he brags about his so-called ‘conquests.’ Conquests, indeed! What are they but a few poor ignorant girls hoodwinked by his handsome face and smooth tongue? Dozens of girls he’s had, my dear, literally dozens! Only the other day some one told me that Mrs. Ashton had to threaten to cut him off with a shilling if he didn’t give up some little person he was supposed to be going to marry! I don’t know how true it is, mind you, but that’s the sort of man he is––I’ve no time for him at all,” she finished vigorously.
She turned to look at Esther, and gave a little exclamation of alarm. “How pale you are! Don’t you feel well?”
“I’m quite all right––I’m just tired––I don’t think I’ll go down to supper to-night. I’ll just stay here and be quiet. I wanted to hear what you had to say about my future employer.”
“Future fiddlesticks!” June retorted. “You’re not going to her, my dear; I shan’t let you. If Raymond came home while you were there, you’d never have any peace.”
Esther was lying back now with closed eyes. Over and over again in her mind she was saying to herself––
“I don’t believe it––I don’t believe a word of it; it’s all cruel lies––first Mr. Mellowes and now June. They both hate him, that’s what it is; but I don’t believe a word of what they say.” June was bustling about the room 113 fetching cushions and a light rug which she had laid over Esther.
“You have a little sleep, and you’ll feel heaps better,” she said.
She went away, shutting the door quietly; and Esther hid her face in her hands.
She hardly knew why she was crying, she only knew that she was utterly miserable.
She took Ashton’s last letter from her dress and read it through again––how could any one, reading it, doubt that he loved her? How could any one, knowing his careful thought for her, believe that he was the detestable personality June and Micky had described?