A soliloquy which made it seem all the more curious that she should have hesitated to trust herself to him for life. Perhaps, as she had told Esther, she cared too much for him to take the risk for them both. He had told her candidly that he did not care for her as a man should care for the woman he marries. "And he makes a ripping friend! Ripping!" she told herself as she scurried along to interview another beauty specialist about the "swindle," as Micky politely called it. CHAPTER VII Micky went straight home when he left June. What he had heard about Esther had disturbed him very much. He loathed to think that she was unhappy. The question was, how best to help her, and quickly. He was thankful she had made a friend of June. June was one of the best, the loyalest pal a man could ever have. But, as June had said, Esther was too proud to take help unless it was most tactfully offered. He racked his brains in vain. It was a sickening thought that, with all his wealth, he could give her nothing. Even the few paltry pounds she had unconsciously taken from him would have been indignantly rejected had she known who was the donor. With sudden impulse he sat down and wrote to her. After all, she had accepted his friendship; there was no reason on earth why he should not write and ask to be allowed to see her again. He wrote most carefully lest she should discover some likeness to the letter he had written to replace Ashton's. Might he take her out to dinner one night? Any night would suit him. And did she like theatres? He had a friend who sometimes gave him a couple of seats for a show. He would arrange for any night she liked to mention. He thought that was a neat stroke of diplomacy--of course, she would not think he could afford to buy seats, and anyway it was true that he had a friend who often gave him boxes and things--he would have to be careful that Phillips did not send along a box this time though. He ended up by hoping formally that she and Charlie were quite well and comfortably settled into their new home, and he signed himself: "Yours very sincerely, Micky Mellowes." When he had finished the letter, he realised that he had written it on his own heavily embossed writing paper, so he had to dig Driver up and borrow a cheap sheet of unstamped grey paper and write it all out again. Then he went out and posted it himself. As soon as it had gone he wished he had sent it by hand; it meant such a deuce of a time to wait for a reply; he calculated that he could not possibly hear before to-morrow night. But in this he was pleasantly disappointed, for his own letter reached the boarding-house in Elphinstone Road that night, and Esther's reply was waiting for him with the kidney and bacon in the morning. Micky's heart began to thump when he saw the letter beside his plate; he had never seen Esther's handwriting, but he knew by instinct that it was hers. He scanned the first lines eagerly, and his face fell.