“No,” she said. “He isn’t at all wonderful, really, except to me, and––and I love him, you see,” she added shyly. “I suppose every man is wonderful to the woman who loves him.”
“Until she’s his wife,” said June tartly. “And then she thinks he’s all sorts of an idiot, and tells him so.”
But Esther was too happy to take her seriously.
“You’ve never been in love,” she said, “or you wouldn’t talk like that.”
“And I never wish to be in love, thank you,” said June. “If you and Micky are samples of objects who are in love....” She made a little grimace, screwing up her nose in disgust.
Esther coloured.
“Micky!” she said, surprised into using his Christian name. “Is he in love? How do you know he is?”
“I’m not a bat, and I haven’t known Micky years for nothing. He hasn’t been himself for a long time. I’ve seen it, though I haven’t said a word. He’s in love right enough, there can’t be any other explanation, seeing that he’s too rich to ever be in debt, and they are the only two things that ever make a man miserable,” she added.
Esther wondered if June was trying to sound her.