"You ought to go to bed," she said in her most matter-of-fact tone. "Where did you sleep last night?" "Nowhere--at least--we were in the train all night. I did sleep a little, but...." June took her by the shoulders. "Off you go to bed, and don't argue. I've had a fire put in your room, and Charlie is there with a new bow on. I'll come and tuck you up when you're ready, and...." But Esther refused to move. "I couldn't sleep if I went to bed. I want to tell you about--about what's happened...." She paused breathlessly, but June was not going to help her. "I don't want to hear anything," she said flatly. She looked at Esther and saw the tears in the younger girl's eyes. She put an arm round her, drawing her down to the sofa. "Tell me all about it, then," she said. "I'm just--just longing to know." "But there isn't much to tell, except----" Esther held out her left hand. "I'm not engaged any more," she said with a faint attempt to laugh. "He--Mr. Ashton--is married...." "I know--Micky told me before we went to Enmore. I hope he's married a vixen who'll lead him an awful dance. It would serve her right to let her know the sort of man he is--to let her know the sort of letters he's been writing to you--to show him up properly." Esther hid her face in the mauve cushions. "Oh, but he has never written to me," she said chokingly. "I've never had a letter from him since he went away, and that was on New Year's Eve. It's all been a mistake--a sham ... he never cared for me--he never really wanted me...." June threw away the cigarette and tried to raise Esther. "What are you talking about? He did write to you--you told me yourself that he wrote beautiful letters--he sent you that money--Esther! what do you mean?" Esther looked up; for a moment June caught a glimpse of misty, shamed eyes. "They weren't from him: those letters--the money never came from him," she said in a stifled voice. "What! My good child, have you gone out of your mind?" June was a hundred miles from guessing the truth. "If he didn't write them, then who in the world did?" she demanded crisply. "And if he didn't send the money, who in the wide world...." She caught her breath on a sudden illuminating thought. "Esther ... not--not--Micky!" "Yes." It was the smallest whisper, and it was followed by a tragic silence; then June got up and began walking aimlessly about the room; she felt as if she had been robbed of all breath. Twice she turned and looked at Esther's huddled figure, then she went back, laid a hand on her arm and said in an odd, gentle voice that was strangely unlike her own brisk tones: "And do you mean to say that you don't just think him the finest man in all the world?" Esther sat up with sudden passion.