CHAPTER XXXI
Ashton echoed Esther’s words hoarsely.
“Here! With you! in Paris!... Micky–––”
A wave of bitterest jealousy surged through him. He fell back a step, struck dumb by the force of his emotions, and Esther fled away from him down the street.
She seemed to have awakened all at once to her true position. She was alone, with only a few shillings in her pocket and in a strange city.
She was tired to death. She felt as if her limbs would give way beneath her. The driver of a fiacre looked at her and drew his horse to the kerb.
Esther nodded; she threw her suit-case on to the seat and clambered in after it.
But where to go? The old blinding fear of her loneliness rushed back. Where could she go?