Micky frowned.
“Don’t talk rubbish,” he said rather shortly. “I’d do the same for any one.”
June knew it would be useless to contradict.
“If you can keep her out of town for a week it may all have blown over,” he went on. “I’ll run down and see you if I may–––”
“You know you may; but, Micky––don’t you think all this is rather mistaken kindness? She’ll have to know sooner or later; why not tell her at once? When the letters stop coming she’ll begin to worry, and then–––”
Micky shook his head obstinately.
“I’ve my own reasons; be a pal and help me, June.”
“Very well, old boy.”
She gave him her hand.
“I think you’re making a mistake, but I suppose you know your own business best. At any rate, I’ve warned you.”