“He doesn’t know; I never told him it was to Mrs. Ashton’s––I just said I had had an offer of a berth. I suppose you are trying to make out now that he–––”
“Heaven bless the child!” June cried. “I’m not trying to make out anything! I’m struck all of a heap like! as Lydia says. So he’s the phantom lover, is he?... Well––I can’t find any words to suit the case.”
“He’s not a phantom lover,” Esther protested. “He’s a real lover, a very real lover.”
June stopped and took her hand.
“I’m not going to let you quarrel with me over him, no matter how badly you want to,” she said. “No man is worth two friends having a row over. I’m quite prepared to take him to my arms and love him if you do.... Oh, Esther, don’t look like that!”
There were tears in Esther’s eyes, and her lips were trembling. “You’re making fun of me,” she protested. “It’s unkind of you.”
June turned away; she wondered if perhaps, after all, she and every one else had thoroughly misunderstood Raymond, and if this girl’s warm championing of him was deserved.
“He’s not nearly good enough for her,” she was telling herself indignantly. “She’ll never really be happy with him.”
“I hope you won’t tell Mr. Mellowes, or any one else,” Esther was saying defiantly. “I don’t want my affairs talked over by every one.”
“I shall not tell any one,” June said quietly.