“Nothing,” said Micky. He got up and began strolling about the room with his hands in his pockets, and June finished toasting her buns and made the tea.
“I’ll just go up and tell Esther,” she said. She went out of the room and upstairs.
“Tea,” she announced cheerfully, knocking at Esther’s door; she turned the handle and went in. Esther was standing by the window looking out into the neglected garden at the back of the house; she turned.
“I’m not really hungry, and if you’d like to have Mr. Mellowes to yourself–––” she began.
June stared at her.
“My dear,” she said then drily, “if I’d wanted to have Mr. Mellowes to myself I should have married him long ago; so don’t pretend you’re not dying for one of the stale but toasted buns.”
She linked her arm in Esther’s, and they went downstairs together. Esther did not want to come, but it seemed easier to give way than to make excuses. She took the chair which Micky brought forward; she felt a little nervous and ill at ease. Once, when their eyes met, she found herself colouring sensitively.
Micky let her alone in a marked fashion and talked to 122 June. He had found the man he had been looking for for months, he declared, a good business man, honest–––
“Really honest, Micky?” June asked, laughing.
“Really honest,” Micky maintained. “Do you think I’d put you on to him else? I’ve told him all about you. I went out to lunch with him yesterday and we talked face creams and vanities till my head reeled. He’s full of ideas, bursting with fresh notions for advertising. He didn’t say so in actual words, but he thinks you’ll be a little gold mine if you’ll put yourself in his hands.”