Her thoughts were a little confused. What had he been going to say, she wondered. It seemed hardly possible that she had really had that little glimpse of the other Micky whom she had never seen before; the Micky who was not at all a man about town, but just an ordinary person who thought it must be fine to have a home in the country and lots of roses and a little son of his own.
The two men behind her were talking together; one of them was laughing a good deal in a sneering way.
“She must be a fool, you know,” he said drily. “I’m surprised at any woman being caught like that. It was only her money he was after, of course.”
“I’ve never seen her myself,” the other said disinterestedly––he sounded rather bored––“and I only know him slightly. You met them in Paris, you say?”
“Yes––last week.” There was the sound of a match being struck and a little pause while he puffed at a cigarette.
Esther turned in her chair; it was odd how the mention of Paris always seemed to grip her heart. She looked at the two men, but they were both strangers to her.
“Perhaps he won’t really marry her,” the elder one said yawning. “There’s many a slip you know, and from what I know of Raymond Ashton–––” He shrugged his shoulders eloquently.
The girl by the fire sat very still. She was staring at the two men with piteous grey eyes; she felt as if all the blood in her body had ebbed to her heart, where it was hammering enough to kill her.
Like some one in a dream she heard the laugh the other man gave–––