He had unfolded the paper, and there was a moment’s tragic silence as he read the three lines Esther had scribbled.
“I have gone to Paris; I can’t live without him any longer. Please don’t worry about me....”
Twice his lips moved, but no words would come, then he broke out in a strangled voice––
“It’s a joke––of course it is. She’s done it to frighten 222 us. Why, I––I only left her here half-an-hour ago––it can’t be more. It’s a joke––of––of course it is ... June....”
“A queer sort of joke,” said June sobbing. “Poor darling! and a nice sort of reception she’ll get when she reaches Paris with that cad there....”
“She’ll never find him; she doesn’t know where he is,” Micky said hoarsely. There was a stunned look in his eyes––he took a step towards the door and came back again as if he did not know what to do.
June was drying her eyes and shedding more tears and drying them again; she looked at Micky angrily.
“Of course she’ll find him,” she said tartly. “She knows his address; the brute’s written to her dozens of times, and she’s written to him as well....” Her eyes searched his face with a sort of contempt.
“Well, what are you going to do now you’ve made such a glorious hash of everything?” she demanded.
Micky passed a hand across his eyes.