Her voice changed a little, her eyes looked past Micky as if for the moment she had forgotten him.
Micky watched her jealously.
“And so whatever was wrong last night is all right to-day, is that it?” he asked with an effort.
“Yes ... somehow I never thought it would be, but this morning–––”
“This morning?” he echoed as she stopped.
“I had a letter this morning,” she told him, and her voice had softened so wonderfully that Micky caught his breath. “Oh, I wonder if you have ever been as unhappy as I was last night, and then had a letter, a wonderful letter like I had this morning? There was something in it that seemed to put everything right straight away; something that I’ve always wanted before and never had. I can’t explain it any better than that, but perhaps you understand. I’m just telling you because I feel so happy I must tell somebody, and because I didn’t want you to misjudge him as I did yesterday. I thought he didn’t really care, and I wanted to die, but to-day, when his letter came–––” She broke off into a little happy laugh.
Micky had rammed his clenched hands into his pockets; 39 the blood was hammering in his temples; his brain felt in a whirl; somehow in all his wildest imaginings he had never dreamed of this.
It was his letter that had brought that new look of happiness to her eyes! His letter which perhaps even then lay against her heart; the first love-letter he had ever written to any woman, and she believed it to have been written by Raymond Ashton!
He did not realise how long he sat there without speaking till Esther spoke to him again. There was a little anxious note in her voice.
“I’m afraid I’ve bored you horribly with all this. I know it’s no interest to you, but I felt that I must tell somebody.”