“I said ‘perhaps,’” he reminded her.
She changed the subject; she drew his attention to the country through which they were passing. It was bare and wind-swept, but there was a sort of rugged picturesqueness about it that appealed to Esther.
“I believe I should like to live in the country, after all,” she said suddenly. “You seem to be able to really breathe down here; it’s not shut in like London is.”
“Dear old London,” Micky said. “We all run it down, but we’re all glad to get back there when we’ve been 208 away for more than a few days.” He leaned forward, wrapping the rug more closely round her. “Where do you think you will live when you are married?” he asked.
The hot colour flooded her face; she looked up at him in a scared sort of way.
“What a question! How do I know? I’ve never even thought about it.”
“Haven’t you?” said Micky. “I have, crowds of times. I’ve worked it all out to a nicety. I shall have a house in London and a place in the country as well, so that if my wife doesn’t like town we can divide our time and stay six months at each.”
“We are not all rich like you are, you know,” Esther said drily. “I dare say when I get married––if I ever do––I shall just have a little flat somewhere and stay there for the rest of my life, and be very happy too,” she added with a sort of defiance.
“Yes,” said Micky after a moment. “I think I could be very happy in a flat, too, for the rest of my life––with the right woman.” He looked down at her, smiling thoughtfully “The only trouble is, that I shall probably have to marry the wrong one.”
“If you do, it will be your own fault, I should think,” said Esther, laughing. She could not quite understand this man. Had he ever really loved her, or had it all just been a pretence?