“And––and is he coming?”
June shook her head.
“No, he isn’t,” she said with overdone indifference. “He said he’d got an engagement already, but between you and me and the doorpost,” she added darkly, “I don’t believe it! I think he just didn’t want to come.”
“Oh,” said Esther faintly. “I expect he has a good many engagements,” she added after a moment.
June said “Humph!” She recalled the curt manner of Micky’s refusal, and wondered if there had been a more serious rupture between himself and Esther than she was ever likely to hear about.
“So we shall have to make up our minds to enjoy ourselves without his distinguished company,” she said airly. “I dare say we shall be able to manage quite nicely. Esther, aren’t you going to wear your fur coat?”
“My fur coat!” said Esther rather unsteadily. “It’s not mine.”
She was taking from the wardrobe the shabby jacket she had worn the first night she met Micky; it looked more shabby and unsmart than ever, but she was going to wear it whatever happened.
She was smarting with humiliation. She had offered Micky her little olive branch when they parted two days ago at Charing Cross, and this is how he had accepted it!
“If he’s trying to pay me out, I suppose it’s only what I deserve,” she thought miserably, and yet it did not seem like Micky to deliberately try or wish to hurt or humiliate any one.