Micky said nothing.
“So I’m off to-night,” Ashton went on with an effort. “I wanted to see you––I knew I could trust you....” He fumbled in a pocket. “There’s a letter here.... I’ve written––I couldn’t see her again. I know I’m a coward, but ... well, there it is!”
He threw the letter down on the table.
“Will you go and see her, old chap, and give her that?” he asked with an effort. “Tell her I––oh, tell her what you like,” he went on fiercely. “Tell her that if I could afford it....”
He stopped again, and this time the silence was unbroken for some minutes.
Then he roused himself and picked up his coat. “Well, I must be getting along. I left my baggage at the station.”
He looked at Micky. “I suppose you think I’m an infernal sweep, eh?” he asked curtly.
“No,” said Micky.
He had always expected that Ashton’s romance would end like this, and he felt vaguely sorry for the girl, though he had never seen her. She must have expected it, too, he thought. She must have known Ashton’s position all along. He followed his friend out of the room.