"Are we supposed to go straight home?" he asked after a moment. "Because, if not, what do you say to a run round first?" Esther's eyes sparkled. "I should love it!" She got in beside him, and the car started away. "I only brought the two-seater," Micky explained audaciously. "I hate a crowd. This will take three at a pinch, but it's much more comfortable for two." "It's lovely!" Esther agreed. She leaned back luxuriously. "It must be splendid to be able to have a car like this of your very own," she said suddenly. Micky laughed rather ruefully. "There are other things I would far rather have," he said. "Are there?" She looked up at him innocently. "What things?" she asked. Micky's hands tightened over the wheel. "Am I really to answer that question?" he asked. "No," said Esther hurriedly. She could not think why she had been so stupid as to say such a thing. She felt very vexed. They went some way in silence. Esther glanced at the man beside her timidly. Would he end up by some day marrying June? she wondered. Lucky June, if he did--lucky ... she checked the thought with a little sense of shame. Only a few days ago she had declared that she disliked him. Perhaps it was the car that made her feel so suddenly envious of the woman who would one day be this man's wife. Micky glanced down at her. "Are you cold?" he asked. "I am a little"--she smiled up at him--"in spite of my new coat," she said. "I think we had better go home." June came to the door to meet them. "I got home earlier than I thought," she told Esther. "Well, Micky?" "Are there any letters?" Esther asked. She felt a swift feeling of envy as she looked at these two, so openly and unfeignedly glad to see one another. "I suppose it's expecting too much though," she added with a sigh. June did not answer, and Esther went on and up the stairs. "There is one for her," June said in an undertone to Micky as soon as she had gone. "And one from Paris, too--from that man! Micky, are you sure it isn't all a mistake about him being married?" "Sure," said Micky stolidly. "Then shall I--what shall I do about that letter--it was sent on from London. Ought I to let her have it?" Micky was taking off his coat, his back was turned. "Oh, let her have it," he said casually. "It may be the last she'll ever get." He turned swiftly. "Let me look at it." June took it from her dress and handed it to him. He glanced at the writing and gave it back to her. "Oh yes, I should let her have it," he said again. But June still hesitated. "Micky--supposing it's to tell her about--you know ... about this marriage?" There was a moment's silence. "Oh, it would hardly be that," Micky said positively. "At least--well, if it is, we must chance it." But his voice did not sound as if he were at all anxious. CHAPTER XXIV