Micky took off his hat and coat and obeyed.
He looked several sizes too large for the little dining-room as he walked over to the fire and stood with his back to it; he looked round the room appreciatively.
This was a real home, he thought with sudden wistfulness in spite of its small rooms and general atmosphere of a bygone decade; a man could be very happy here with a woman he cared for.
“Micky––Micky–––” called June urgently. She came clattering down the stairs anyhow––she burst into the room, she thrust a scrap of paper into his hand.
“She’s gone––she’s gone! Oh, what fools we’ve been! I told you what it would be. I knew she’d find out sooner or later. Oh, why didn’t you let me tell her?––I begged you to let me. It’s not my fault. I warned you what it would be––oh dear! oh dear!” and June fell into a sobbing heap on the uncomfortable horsehair couch behind her.
Micky stood clutching the paper and staring at her; it was some minutes before he could find his voice, then he went over to where she lay, put his hand on her shoulder, and shook her almost roughly.
“What are you talking about, June? For heaven’s sake sit up and behave like a rational woman. Who’s gone? What do you mean?”
She raised her tear-stained face.
“Read it! read it! Oh, Micky, you have been a fool!” she said furiously. “It’s all your fault. I knew what would happen–––”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake shut up,” said Micky.