She stood looking down into the fire, and her face was troubled.
Presently she walked to Esther, and, stooping, kissed her.
“I’m awfully glad I know,” she said. “It makes our friendship seem so much more real.”
Esther smiled faintly.
But June was ill at ease. She felt instinctively that things were not all right.
“It isn’t the man himself,” she told herself obstinately. “It’s some foolish, mistaken ideal of him that she has created.”
She wondered what he really was doing in Paris. Micky would know––he and Micky had been such great friends. There would be no harm in speaking of him to Micky, at least that would not be betraying any secret or confidence.
She rang Micky up the following morning. She made the excuse that she wanted to see him on business. She took him to lunch at her club.
“You don’t look well,” was her greeting. “What’s the matter, Micky?”