He had liked Ashton, had been his constant companion for months, but he had never suspected him of being capable of this. He supposed he ought to be ashamed of having opened the letter, but he was not ashamed; he was glad that he had been able to spare the girl this last and hardest blow of all--the knowledge that the man whom she loved and trusted was unworthy. Presently he picked the letter up from the rug. He picked it up with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something repulsive to him, and threw it down on the table. The first few words stared up at him as it lay there. "DEAR LALLIE,--By the time you get this letter I shall be out of England, and I hope you won't make things worse for me than they already are by trying to find out where I have gone or by writing to my people and making a scene. The worst of these little flirtations is that they always have to end, as this must, and you must have known it."... Micky drew in his breath hard; not an hour ago in this very room Ashton had made out how cut-up he was at the turn his affairs had taken, and yet all the time he had written this letter. He flicked over a page and read on:-- "... I shall never forget you and the good times we've had together. I should try and get back at Eldred's, if I were you. It's a good thing we didn't get married as matters have turned out, or the fat would have been in the fire with a vengeance. As it is, I shall have all my work cut out to put the mater in a good temper again. I am sending you some money by Mickey Mellowes; he's a friend of mine and as rich as Croesus, and as selfish as the devil. If he offers to take you out, let him, by all means. It wouldn't be a bad thing if he took a fancy to you; he doesn't care a hang for any one but himself. If only I'd got half his money ... but what's the use of talking about it? Anyway, this is good-bye; I shan't write again. Be a sensible girl, and try to see things from my point of view. It would only have meant ruin for both of us if I'd stuck to you. Good-bye; I send you my love for the last time. RAYMOND ASHTON." And this from the man whom she loved; the man who had pretended to love her! Micky dragged forward a chair with his foot and sat down straddlewise. He leaned an elbow on the chair-back and ran his fingers through his hair with a sort of bewilderment. "He's as rich as Croesus and as selfish as the devil...." And this from Ashton, his friend--the man whom he had helped out of scrapes scores of times; the man to whom he had lent money without the least hope of its ever being returned; Micky felt as if he had a blow in the face. His thoughts were in a whirl; the whole world needed readjusting. Was he selfish? he asked himself in perplexity--if so, it was quite unconsciously, and anyway Ashton was the last person who should have made the accusation.