She did not want to go out with him any more; she did not care if she saw him again or not.
Micky left his breakfast, he no longer had any appetite. He had never had such a snub in all his life––out of his disappointment anger was rising steadily; she had no right to snub him like that without a reason.
Driver, coming into the room at that moment, saw the untouched breakfast and halted midway between door and table to stare at his master.
Micky stood with his hands deep thrust into his pockets, glowering into the fire. Driver advanced a step.
“Beg pardon, sir––but wasn’t you well?” he asked stoically.
Micky began to swear, then his mood changed and he laughed.
“Yes, I’m all right–––” He hesitated. “Driver, would you like to go to Paris?”
Driver raised wooden eyes.
“Anywhere you wish, sir,” he answered, in his usual expressionless voice. “When were you thinking of starting, sir?”