Micky laughed.
“She’s a darling,” June said warmly. “I’ve only known her for four days––she lives in the same house. I took a fancy to her from the first moment I saw her. 64 No, it was before that––it was when I first heard her name....”
Micky raised his brows.
“What a creature of impulse! My dear, you’ll burn your fingers badly some day.”
“And when I do,” said Miss Mason sharply, “I shan’t come crying to you for sympathy; however ... Well, she’s poor! she’s one of those horribly poor, frightfully proud people whom it’s impossible to help. I’ve tried all ways! I asked her to go shares with my sitting-room, and she said she couldn’t afford it; she’ll hardly let me give her a cup of tea or coffee for fear I should think she is sponging on me. She seems most frightfully alone in the world. She says she engaged to a man, but he’s abroad, and I’m sure he’s not nice, anyway. He’s only written to her once since I’ve known her, at all events, and this morning when there wasn’t a letter, I know she went back to her room and cried. I knocked at the door, but she wouldn’t let me in.”
She paused, and looked at Micky for sympathy.
He half smiled; he knew how enthusiastic June always was about everything.
“Well, and what do you want me to do for this damsel in distress?” he asked gently.
“I want you to get her a berth somewhere,” he was told promptly. “No, it’s no use saying you can’t! My dear man, you must know scores of people who’d take her in. She thought she was fixed up all right, but now it appears that the people she was with before haven’t got a vacancy for her, and so that’s knocked on the head. She told me that she’s have to just take the first thing that came along. I don’t believe she’s hardly got a shilling to her name. I offered to take her into partnership with me. I said we’d go travelling together for my beauty cream, but she wouldn’t hear of it.... She’s so proud!”––and here a sound of tears crept into June Mason’s voice. “I ask you, Micky, what can be done with any one like that?”