“Confounded pride,” she said under her breath. She paced up and down for some minutes, then she caught Charlie up from his cushion and went downstairs to Esther’s room with him in her arms.
Her knock was answered immediately and Esther stood there in the doorway.
June spoke without looking at her.
“I’ve brought Charlie down––I thought if he stayed up in my room any longer you’d be wanting to pay me for his board and lodging.”
She thrust the cat into Esther’s arms and turned away.
She was feeling very sore; hers was such a generous nature that she could not understand why Esther could not see how glad she would have been to help her; she went back to her own room and slammed the door.
A moment later she was sorry for what she had done; twice she went half way down the stairs to apologise, then came back again.
“Do her good,” she told herself snappishly. “I’ve no patience with such silly pride, and as for you, my boy,” she stopped and shook her fist at Micky’s photograph, “if you don’t buck up and find her something....”
The two days dragged away. June purposely avoided Esther; she never went into the dining-room to meals, and Esther never came upstairs to June’s room; there was a kind of armed neutrality between them.