He raised his hat, stood aside, and the car started forward.
June looked at Esther with a sort of shyness. It seemed as if years must have passed since they were down at Enmore.
The car had rolled out of the station and into the heart of London before either of them spoke; then Esther said, stiltedly:
“It was kind of you to come.”
June flushed.
“It wasn’t kind at all,” she said bluntly. “You’re my friends, or, at least, you were, and, as for Micky––well, I love him.”
There was a sort of defiance in her voice. She had seen the tired, strained look in Micky’s face, and she was nearer being angry with Esther than she had ever been, but she turned and took her hand.
“Somehow I never thought I should see you again,” 262 she said, with real emotion. “I haven’t slept a wink since you went away.”
“You’re much too good to me,” Esther said. “Everyone is much too good to me.”
“I think Micky is, certainly,” June agreed exasperatedly. “The man’s a perfect fool to run about like he does after a woman who doesn’t care two hoots about him.... There! now I oughtn’t to have said that. Esther, if you’re crying....”