Micky frowned.
“No––merely a sort of frigid silence this time,” he said savagely, then he laughed. “It’s no use, June, I may as well throw up the sponge. I seem to put my foot in it whatever I do.”
June drew a pattern in the mud at her feet.
“Well, what have you done?” she asked. “Esther was all right this morning, and quite pleased to be going with you. I certainly never expected to see either of you till this afternoon. Where did you go?”
Micky shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, some little one-eyed place. We stopped at an inn and had some coffee, and that seemed to finish it.”
“What, the coffee?” asked June with a twinkle.
Micky turned away.
“If you’re going to make a joke of everything–––” he said with dignity.
She laid her hand on his arm.