He felt rather sorry for this woman. After all, she was harmless and good natured, she deserved a better fate than to be snapped up by a good-looking fortune-hunter.
He was getting into his coat in the lounge when Ashton came after him. He looked worried and abashed; he asked a hurried question.
“Everything’s all right, eh, Micky?––Lallie, I mean––I 132 thought from the way you looked just now––she––she’s all right––eh?”
“My dear chap––how should I know? She never answered my letter, though I sent the money, as you wished. I thought you would have heard.”
“I told you I didn’t mean to write––I said that I wanted the whole affair cut out,” Ashton said irritably.
Micky made no response.
“She sure to be all right, anyway,” Ashton said after a moment. “If she hadn’t I should have heard––eh?”
Micky looked at him coolly.
“You rather sound as if you were expecting to hear she’d done something foolish––jumped off Waterloo Bridge or something–––” he said drily.
Ashton laughed. “Well, you never know,” he said heartlessly. “Women are such queer creatures––and Lallie was so excitable; she said more than once that she’d do away with herself––it’s all rot, of course, but ... what did you say?”