She sighed, and leaned back in her chair despondently.
“Have a cake,” said Micky absently; he pushed the plate across to her. “The ones with the white sugar are nice.”
Miss Mason ignored him.
“If that’s all the interest you take–––” she said offendedly.
Micky started.
“My dear girl, I’m full of interest––chock full to the brim! But we came here for tea, so we may as well eat something while I try to think of a plan.” He wrinkled his forehead. “Of course,” he ejaculated, “that chap––what did you say his name was?”
“What chap? Oh, the fiancé! I don’t know; she hasn’t even let me see his photograph yet; but she says he writes dreams of letters. I haven’t seen them either, of course.”
“He may send her some more money. After all, you say it’s only four days since she heard from him. That’s not very long; men are always rotten letter writers.”
Miss Mason looked wise.