It was always like this, he told himself savagely; one little step onward and a dozen back. He did not speak again till they got home.
Esther got out of the car without waiting for him, and went on into the house.
After a moment Micky followed.
Esther was in the hall; she turned to him impatiently.
“Every one is out,” she said. “Miss Dearling and June are both out.”
There was a sort of strain in her voice which Micky could not understand. She looked as if she had had some bad shock, and yet what could have happened? He had not left her for more than a few minutes.
“Very well, I won’t wait,” he said formally. He spoke curtly; he felt sore enough; he raised his hat stiffly and turned away.
He looked back once at the little house. He thought perhaps Esther might be standing at the door in case he should turn, but the door was shut, and it was impossible for him to guess that upstairs in the room over the porch Esther had shut and locked the door and was pacing up and down the room, her hands pressed hard against her eyes, sobbing––great tearless sobs that seemed to rend her very heart.
“It’s not true––it’s not true,” she said over and over again under her breath. “It’s not true––it’s not true....”
The striking of a church clock in the village seemed to rouse her. June would be back soon, and Miss Dearling.