"DEAR MR. MELLOWES,--Thank you for your letter. I am sorry, but I cannot come out with you, either to dinner or to a theatre.-- Yours very truly, ESTHER SHEPSTONE." Micky's face was pathetic in its disappointment. He read the few curt lines through again and again, vainly trying to find something more behind the unmistakable refusal, but there it was in all its bald decision. She did not want to go out with him any more; she did not care if she saw him again or not. Micky left his breakfast, he no longer had any appetite. He had never had such a snub in all his life--out of his disappointment anger was rising steadily; she had no right to snub him like that without a reason. Driver, coming into the room at that moment, saw the untouched breakfast and halted midway between door and table to stare at his master. Micky stood with his hands deep thrust into his pockets, glowering into the fire. Driver advanced a step. "Beg pardon, sir--but wasn't you well?" he asked stoically. Micky began to swear, then his mood changed and he laughed. "Yes, I'm all right----" He hesitated. "Driver, would you like to go to Paris?" Driver raised wooden eyes. "Anywhere you wish, sir," he answered, in his usual expressionless voice. "When were you thinking of starting, sir?" "I'm not thinking of starting at all," said Micky. "I want you to go--alone! You've been often enough now not to get lost. Do you think you can manage it?" "Yes, sir, if you think you can manage without me here." There was the faintest touch of amazement in the man's even voice; he knew how helpless Micky was, or pretended to be--knew how he hated being left to do for himself. But Micky only laughed. "Oh, I can manage all right. I shall probably go away somewhere myself for a few days. Besides, you won't be gone long----" He paused. "No, sir," said Driver. Micky was leaning against the mantelshelf; his eyes were all crinkled up into a laugh as if he had heard some excellent joke which he was about to repeat. "No, you won't be gone long," he said again. "A couple of days, I should think. You can put up at the hotel we stayed at last time; they'll look after you, and the manager speaks English." "Yes, sir----" Driver hesitated. "And--what were you wanting me to do when I get there, sir?" he asked, after a moment. Micky clung to his joke for an instant longer, then suddenly he let it go. "I want you to post a letter for me," he said. Driver was too well trained to show amazement at Micky's instructions, but just for a fractional second he forgot to answer with his usual "Yes, sir," and stood immovable. Then he recovered himself, and said it twice with hurried apology. "And am I to go at once, sir?"