June coaxed her into helping with the “swindle.”
“If you don’t I’ll have to pay some one else to do it,” she declared. “And oh, Esther, don’t be so proud!”
So Esther gave in. She filled the little mauve pots with the profound skin food and fastened on lids and labels till her head swam.
Sometimes Mr. George P. Rochester came to help––at least he called it “help”––but he did very little actual work, as he was always too busy looking at June and talking to her.
“Has he suggested the partnership yet?” Esther asked one night.
June flushed rosily.
“Don’t be absurd,” she answered, and something in her voice woke a little note of fear in Esther’s heart.
Was she to lose June too? Was there to be nothing left to her in all the world? Her hands shook as she went on mechanically filling the row of little mauve pots.
“Esther,” said June suddenly, “how long is it since you saw Micky?”