CHAPTER XXII
So it had come at last. Micky sat staring down at the small paragraph which briefly announced the marriage of Tubby Clare’s wealthy widow to Mr. Raymond Ashton.
The ceremony, so the paper declared, which had taken place quietly in Paris would be a complete surprise to everybody. Mrs. Clare, as all the world knew, inherited something like £90,000 under the will of her late husband.
Micky whistled softly. Raymond had done well for himself. He would be able to live in luxury for the rest of his life; to discharge all his debts, if his wife chose to allow him to do so; all but one debt––the greatest of them all, and one which he could never hope to liquidate––a woman’s broken heart.
Esther––what would she say if she knew? And supposing she knew now–––! It was quite likely that a copy of this same paper had fallen into her hands. The thought turned Micky cold; he looked up hurriedly at the clock––not yet eight! On what pretext could he go back to Elphinstone Road?
He threw the paper down and rose to his feet. His gloves! He would make them the excuse––he could go back for his gloves. He taxied down the whole way; he sent his name up to June and waited in the hall. After a moment she came flying down the stairs.
“Micky! Is anything the matter? What in the world....”
He explained in stammering haste.
“Have you seen the evening paper? No, well, take care not to let Miss Shepstone see it. I had to come back and tell you. Ashton––the damned outsider....” He ground his teeth.