The Phantom Lover Part 18

She went down to lunch because she hoped Esther would be there, but she was not. The long room was rather empty, and June ate her cold meat and pudding hurriedly and went back upstairs.

It was getting dusk when she heard Esther come in; she waited eagerly, but the footsteps did not come on to her door. June threw another cushion across the room to keep the other company; it was her chief vent for anger or irritation.

"Confounded pride," she said under her breath. She paced up and down for some minutes, then she caught Charlie up from his cushion and went downstairs to Esther's room with him in her arms.

Her knock was answered immediately and Esther stood there in the doorway.

June spoke without looking at her.

"I've brought Charlie down--I thought if he stayed up in my room any longer you'd be wanting to pay me for his board and lodging."

She thrust the cat into Esther's arms and turned away.

She was feeling very sore; hers was such a generous nature that she could not understand why Esther could not see how glad she would have been to help her; she went back to her own room and slammed the door.

A moment later she was sorry for what she had done; twice she went half way down the stairs to apologise, then came back again.

"Do her good," she told herself snappishly. "I've no patience with such silly pride, and as for you, my boy," she stopped and shook her fist at Micky's photograph, "if you don't buck up and find her something...."

The two days dragged away. June purposely avoided Esther; she never went into the dining-room to meals, and Esther never came upstairs to June's room; there was a kind of armed neutrality between them.

Charlie, too, seemed to have been told to keep away, and June missed his l.u.s.ty purr in the silent room.

She shed a few tears into the mauve cushions; she thought Esther was wilfully misunderstanding her; she wrote to Micky on the second day with a great deal of emphasis.

"Are you dead or asleep? Here am I, just living to hear from you, and you leave me without a word! Esther and I haven't spoken for two days, not that you care, of course. You don't believe in my friendships, I know, but it's a very serious thing for me. I'm more fond of that girl than I've ever been of anybody, and now she'll walk out of this house and my life, and it will be your fault...."

She knew this was unfair to Micky, but she knew that Micky would understand--Micky always understood.

But Micky frowned over the letter. Did she imagine he enjoyed sitting down here doing nothing? What pleasure did she suppose he was getting out of the whole thing?

He threw the letter into the fire. Something ought to happen to-morrow, anyway. The last two days had seemed like months.

To kill time he went round to the Delands. He felt a little nervous as he reached the house. It seemed an unconscionable time since he was last here. When the butler opened the door he felt an insane desire to say, "Good evening, Jessop! You're still here, then." Such a decade ago it seemed since Jessop had been wont to admit him without question and take his hat and coat.

But Jessop did not smile to-night, and did not move back an inch when he saw who was the caller.

Micky was nonplussed.

"Er--anybody in?" he asked awkwardly.

"No, sir; the mistress and the young ladies are all out, sir...."

"Oh!" There was a little silence; then Micky turned on his heel.

"Well, good-night!" he said jerkily.

He walked away, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed. A few yards down the road he almost cannoned into a man he knew.

"Hullo, Philips! Where are you off to?"

Philips stopped.

"Hullo, Micky! Not coming my way? I'm going to the Delands. What's up with you? Haven't seen you for a week or more."

"I've been seedy," Micky said hurriedly. "And the Delands are out.

I've just called there myself."

"Eh?" Philips tried hard to see his face through the darkness. "Rot,"

he said at last. "They've got a musical evening on--I had a special invite."

Micky said nothing. This was a nasty blow; apparently the Delands were only "not at home" to him. Jove! he must have behaved caddishly. He walked on feeling very subdued. Had he quite lost his wits, he wondered, that for the sake of a girl who would have none of him he was willing to offend all his old friends? He tried to look at his behaviour from Marie Deland's point of view. Yes, it must look pretty rotten, he was forced to admit.

He thought about it all the time he walked home. He asked himself honestly if this new game was worth the candle.

Esther loved another man.

Already she had shown him that she cared nothing for him or his friendship, and yet--yet---- Micky set his teeth. He had never wanted anything really badly in all his life before, but now he wanted this girl.

"I'm not done yet, anyway," he told himself. "After all--let the best man win."

He felt that he had decided a question of great importance as he went back to his rooms; it was a pleasant surprise to find Driver there; Micky beamed.

"You've got back, then?"

"Yes, sir."

The man took Micky's hat and coat, and turned to go.

Micky stared.

"Everything all right?" he asked, with a touch of anxiety.

"Yes, sir."

"You posted the letter?"

"Yes, sir, and had it weighed...." There was a little pause.

"Is that all?" Micky asked. "Nothing else happened?"

The man raised his expressionless eyes.

"I should have got in this morning, sir, but we had a rough crossing, and I was ill----"

Micky smiled.

"Poor old Driver!--anything else?"

"Yes, sir--I met Mr. Ashton in Paris. He seemed very surprised to see me there without you, sir."