Micky was sitting with an elbow on the table, absently smoothing the back of his head; he was wishing it was Esther sitting opposite to him; he looked up with a little start when June spoke to him.
“What’s up, Micky? I’ve never seen you looking so depressed.”
He roused himself with an effort.
“Oh, nothing, nothing! It’s the beastly weather, I expect.”
She looked at him quizzically with her queer eyes.
“I shouldn’t have thought the weather would depress you,” she said. “However, if you say it does–––”
He shook himself together.
“I’m not depressed any longer,” he declared. “Well, and how are you? And how is the swindle?” It was Micky’s pet joke to call June’s invention the “swindle,” though in his heart he was almost as proud of it as she was.
She laughed.