Micky did not look enthusiastic; he liked June awfully, but to-day every one and everything seemed a bore.
“Tea! Where?” he asked vaguely.
“Miss Mason said that you would know, sir; the same place as usual.”
“Oh, all right!”
Micky looked at the clock and sighed. After all, June 62 was always amusing; he went off almost cheerfully to the unpretentious club of which she had spoken to Esther. He had to wait in the lobby while a boy in buttons fetched June to him. She came downstairs looking very much at home, and smoking the inevitable cigarette. It was one of June Mason’s charms that she always managed to look at home wherever she was.
She had taken off her coat, but she wore a green hat with a gold ornament that suited her to perfection, set on her dark head at rakish angle.
“I began to think you were not coming,” she said.
She gave him her left hand, and Micky squeezed it in friendly fashion. They went upstairs together to a small tea-room, which was just now deserted save for two waitresses who were giggling together over a newspaper.
June walked over to a table in the window, and Micky followed.
He had been here with her scores of times before, and the two waitresses smiled at one another knowingly; they were quite sure that this was romance.