Micky's face reflected the flush in her own; he looked away in miserable embarrassment. He knew that she felt the same towards him as she had done before that memorable New Year's Eve, and he knew that whatever happened now he could never feel the same to her any more. He answered that he would be pleased, very pleased. Where should he meet her--or should he call for her? "I'll meet you," she said quickly. "You know where we always used to go--I'll be there at four, Micky." She put out her hand and Micky was forced to take it; he felt how her fingers shook in his, and he cursed himself for a brute as he turned away and left her. In a way he was glad they had met. Any other woman would have given him the snubbing which he knew he so richly deserved. Deep down in his heart he wished that she had done so; anything would have been easier to meet than this trembling overture of friendship. He knew that the little abashed expression in Marie's dark eyes could only mean one thing, that he had cut her to the soul and that she still cared for him. He left the Savoy without having any dinner; he went back to his rooms, where the imperturbable Driver was brushing and refolding his master's clothes. It had almost broken Driver's heart to see the way in which Micky had packed his things; he raised eyes of wooden reproach as Micky entered the room. There was a pile of letters on the table. Micky flicked them through carelessly; nothing of interest--a few bills and a good many invitations; nothing from Esther--not even a note from June. He sat down by the fire and proceeded to cut the many envelopes open. He kept thinking of Marie and wondering if it would be kinder not to meet her to-morrow, after all; if he could possibly write her a note that would tactfully explain the situation. He just glanced at each of the notes as he opened them, and let them drop to the carpet at his feet. They could be answered later; there was nothing of importance, nothing he ... his attention was arrested:-- "DEAR MR. MELLOWES,--I wonder if it will be asking too much of you to come round and see me one afternoon for half an hour?-- Yours sincerely, LAURA ASHTON." Micky glanced quickly at the address at the top of the paper--it was from Raymond's mother. What in the world could she want with him, he wondered blankly. He looked across at Driver. "This note--the one that came by hand--when did it come?" he asked. Driver replied that it had been there for two days. He waited a moment, then went on brushing Micky's coat. Micky felt rather disturbed. Raymond's mother! What in the wide world could she want with him? Supposing it were anything to do with Esther ... He wrote a note in reply at once and said he would call the following afternoon; he could just look in early for half an hour and go on afterwards to meet Marie; it was strange how he dreaded both these appointments.