"June is a very sensible woman," he said. "I am glad you like her." He hesitated. "And the--er--post?" he asked with an effort. "Will it be in town?" "Oh yes." She was obviously not going to tell him any more, but Micky persevered. "I wonder if it is likely to be any one I know. I have quite an extensive acquaintance in London." "Yes," said Esther. "But I don't suppose you will know these people, anyway," she added with an unconscious touch of loftiness in her voice. "The name is Ashton--Mrs. Raymond Ashton." There was the barest possible silence before Micky answered, a silence during which the blank dismay and anger that crossed his face would have been amusing had it not also had something of pathos in it. "Ashton?" he said. "Oh, yes, I know Raymond Ashton very well." He was watching her with jealous eyes, and she turned her head sharply and looked up at him. Just for a moment a traitorous eagerness crossed her face; he could almost see the quick question on her lips, then she laughed. "Really! How funny! But, of course, as you say, you must know a great many people." "I have known the Ashtons for years. You will like Mrs. Ashton." There was a sort of quiet insinuation in the words, and Esther bit her lip. "And--the son?" she asked. "I think you said you knew the son." "Yes, I know him--he is in Paris, I believe." Micky was conscious of a queer tightening about his throat; it was a tremendous effort to force himself to speak lightly. "And shall I like him as well, do you think?" Esther asked deliberately. Micky did not answer. "Do you like him?" she persisted. Micky's restraint broke its bonds; if he had died for it he could not have checked the words that rushed to his lips. "I detest the fellow!" he said. "He's a beastly outsider!" He dared not look at her. He held his breath, waiting for the storm to break, but if he had lost his self-control she kept hers admirably. "Really," she said. Her voice was a little breathless, but quite calm. "What does a man mean when he calls another man--such a name?" Her face was quite colourless, even to the lips, and her hands were clenched in the shabbiness of the cheap little muff she carried. He blunderingly tried to make amends. "I ought not to have said that, just because he's not the sort of man I care about," he said stammeringly. "He's quite all right--it all depends from what point of view you regard him. I hope you will forget that I said that, Miss Shepstone. It--it was unpardonable." "It's a matter of complete indifference to me what you say about--Mr. Ashton," she told him. She stopped. They had been walking along together. "Which way are you going?" she asked. Micky flushed up to his eyes; he knew this was a dismissal. "I was coming along to see June," he said. "I hoped you would allow me to walk along with you--if I am not intruding." Esther forced a smile, but her lips felt stiff.