“There’s no hurry,” she said kindly. “Why not wait till Esther comes in?”
Micky shook his head; he said he couldn’t spare the time, but in his heart he knew quite well that he intended to wait.
“I suppose she––er––she never talks any more about taking a job now, eh?” he asked after a moment.
“No, I don’t think so; that man’s word is law to her, you know. I believe if he said ‘Come out here and marry me at once,’ she’d fly off by the next train. As a matter of fact, I’m expecting something of the sort almost daily.”
“I don’t think she’ll do that,” Micky said. He stood back to the fire, with his hands in his pockets, staring up at the ceiling.
“No!” June watched him quizzically. “Do you know, Micky,” she said at last, “that I consider you’ve altered a lot lately?”
He swung round at once, and scrutinised himself in the glass over the mantelshelf.
“For the worse, or the better?” he asked anxiously. “I know I never was exactly an Adonis.”
She laughed merrily.
“I don’t mean your face, stupid, but yourself. You’re quieter, you don’t go about so much; in fact”––she challenged him deliberately––“I believe you’re in love.”