It seemed impossible that she had even really seen and spoken to Raymond Ashton; impossible that instead of loving him desperately, she could only shudder at the memory of him.
The tears forced their way to her eyes, and scorched her cheeks. But for Micky, where might she not have been now?––and he had refused to even let her thank him. Her heart was filled with a new humility. At best her words would be so poor––like beggars in the palace of his generosity.
But she would see him again soon––she comforted herself with the assurance. In spite of his changed manner and apparent indifference, she was sure she would see him again. Micky––as June had said of him––never failed!
It was her last thought as she fell asleep, that she would surely see him the next day.
But Micky did not come!
Esther rested till lunch time, after which June insisted on a walk.
“The sun’s shining, and it’s wicked to stay indoors,” she declared; she marched Esther about for half an hour.
Esther had been so sure that Micky would come. She glanced up at the clock, and then at Micky’s photograph––but to-day he seemed to be looking past her into the room to where June was bustling about, and she gave a little sigh.
The evening dragged away.