Micky stood like a man turned to stone. She had not hurt him physically, though there was a red flush where she had struck him, but he felt as if the blow had fallen on his aching heart and his love for her.
It seemed a long time before either of them moved or spoke, then Esther dragged herself to her feet.
“Please let me pass,” she said in a whisper, and Micky stood aside without a word.
He followed her out and inquired for a train; there was a slow one at ten-fifty they told him. He put Esther into a carriage and got a rug for her and a cushion. He knew she had had nothing to eat, and he ordered a basket to be made up at the refreshment-room. When he came back she was sitting in a corner with her eyes closed. She had taken off her hat, and her golden hair was tumbled about her face. She took no notice when he put the rug over her; she did not even open her eyes when the train started.
Micky sat down in the opposite corner. He felt more tired than he had ever done in all his life, and yet he knew that he could not sleep; his brain seemed as if it would never rest again. He sat with face averted from the girl in the corner, looking out into the darkness.
It seemed strange to realise that he had made this same journey dozens of times before. He felt that it was all strange and distasteful to him. The chattering voices of the French porters and the whistle of the engines sounded new and quaint as if he had never heard them before. It seemed an eternity before the train started slowly away.
He leaned back and closed his eyes; his head was splitting, and he was cold and hungry.
He must have dozed for a few minutes, for he was roused by a little choking sound of sobbing. He opened his eyes––he was awake at once––he looked across at Esther. She was lying huddled up, with her face turned 237 against the dirty cushions of the carriage, sobbing her heart out.
Micky looked at her in miserable indecision. Then he got up impulsively, and sat down opposite to where Esther was huddled.
He stretched out his hand and took hers.