“Well––I thought it would be better not, certainly.”
June regarded him severely.
“You’re a deep soul,” she said. “I never even guessed that you knew anything.”
“Why should you? And I don’t know anything. Can’t we talk about something else?” he asked plaintively.
It was getting on his nerves, this constant conversation about Esther.
“So you’ll come along to-morrow, eh?” he asked presently. “It’s a long time since we went for a little jaunt together.”
“I shall love it.” But June answered absently; her thoughts were still with Esther.
Silence fell. Micky had finished his tipsy cake and was leaning back in his chair, a cigarette hanging dejectedly between his lips. He had lit it, but it had gone out, and though matches stood beside him he made no effort to light it again.
June watched him across the table. He didn’t look a bit well, she thought. What was the matter with him?
“You know, Micky,” she said impulsively, “I had quite made up my mind that you and Esther were to fall in love with one another. It would have been ideal, wouldn’t it?” she asked wickedly.