He leaned back and closed his eyes; his head was splitting, and he was cold and hungry. He must have dozed for a few minutes, for he was roused by a little choking sound of sobbing. He opened his eyes--he was awake at once--he looked across at Esther. She was lying huddled up, with her face turned against the dirty cushions of the carriage, sobbing her heart out. Micky looked at her in miserable indecision. Then he got up impulsively, and sat down opposite to where Esther was huddled. He stretched out his hand and took hers. "Don't cry--don't; I can't bear it," he said hoarsely. He raised her hand to his lips. She had taken off her gloves and her fingers felt like ice. He chafed them gently between his own. She still wore the cheap little ring which Ashton had given her months ago. She let her hand lie passively in his. Perhaps she was too miserable to remember that it was Micky, and only realised that there was something kind and comforting in his touch. Presently her sobs quieted. She wiped the tears from her face and brushed back her disordered hair. Micky got up and took down the supper basket he had managed to get at the station. There was a small thermos of hot coffee. He poured some out and made her drink it. If he had expected her to refuse he was agreeably disappointed. She obeyed apathetically; she even ate some sandwiches. Micky was ravenous himself, but he would not touch a thing till she had finished. "You'd be much more comfortable if you put your feet up on the seat and tried to sleep," he said presently. "You can have my coat as well as the rug. Your hands are like ice." He took off his coat as he spoke and laid it over her. "I'm afraid we've got a long journey yet," he said ruefully. "If you could get some sleep." She turned her head away and closed her eyes. She looked very young and appealing in the depressing light of the carriage. Micky sat looking at her in silence. She cared so little for him that she had even forgotten her anger against him; nothing he could do or say really mattered to her, she was not sufficiently interested in him to even trouble to hate him for long. He wondered what June was thinking, and Miss Dearling! He wished from the depths of his soul that he had remembered to send those wires. There was his car, too--he had left that in the yard at Charing Cross--what the dickens would become of it?--not that it mattered much, he was too miserable to be seriously concerned about anything. Some minutes passed, but Esther did not move. Micky spoke her name once softly-- "Esther...." But she did not answer; he leaned over and touched her hand, but she did not stir; in spite of what she had said she was asleep. Micky gave a sigh of relief. He drew his coat and the rug more closely around her; he was very cold himself, but that did not trouble him; he finished the contents of the supper basket before he went back to his own corner.