The Phantom Lover Part 9

"You said last night that you didn't believe in a man's friendship for a woman," he said. "Well, I am going to make you believe in it. I'm going to be your friend. The fact that you are engaged makes no difference to me, if it doesn't to you."

She looked at him earnestly.

"If you mean that," she said, "I think I'm very glad."

"Thank you. I suppose I mustn't ask who the--the lucky man is?"

She shook her head.

"I can't tell you. And he's away now--out of England."

Her voice changed a little, her eyes looked past Micky as if for the moment she had forgotten him.

Micky watched her jealously.

"And so whatever was wrong last night is all right to-day, is that it?" he asked with an effort.

"Yes ... somehow I never thought it would be, but this morning----"

"This morning?" he echoed as she stopped.

"I had a letter this morning," she told him, and her voice had softened so wonderfully that Micky caught his breath. "Oh, I wonder if you have ever been as unhappy as I was last night, and then had a letter, a wonderful letter like I had this morning? There was something in it that seemed to put everything right straight away; something that I've always wanted before and never had. I can't explain it any better than that, but perhaps you understand. I'm just telling you because I feel so happy I must tell somebody, and because I didn't want you to misjudge him as I did yesterday. I thought he didn't really care, and I wanted to die, but to-day, when his letter came----" She broke off into a little happy laugh.

Micky had rammed his clenched hands into his pockets; the blood was hammering in his temples; his brain felt in a whirl; somehow in all his wildest imaginings he had never dreamed of this.

It was his letter that had brought that new look of happiness to her eyes! His letter which perhaps even then lay against her heart; the first love-letter he had ever written to any woman, and she believed it to have been written by Raymond Ashton!

He did not realise how long he sat there without speaking till Esther spoke to him again. There was a little anxious note in her voice.

"I'm afraid I've bored you horribly with all this. I know it's no interest to you, but I felt that I must tell somebody."

Micky roused himself with an effort.

"It's of great interest to me," he said. "And you mustn't ever say a thing like that again. We're going to be friends, and real friends are always interested in everything that concerns the other. I'm more glad than I can say that you're happy. I only hope it's going to last for ever."

Perhaps there was a dubious note in his voice, for an anxious gleam crept into the girl's eyes.

"You sound as if you don't think that it will," she said quickly.

Micky made a hurried disclaimer.

"I do think so, of course I do! You deserve all the happiness you can get, and whoever the man is, if he doesn't make you happy----"

He stopped, with frowning memory of Ashton and their parting only last night.

He hoped in his heart that they would never meet again; if they did, he realised that there would be quite a few nasty things he would feel called upon to say to him.

The waitress brought the bill at that moment and put an end to further conversation, for which he was thankful. He realised that he was getting rather out of his depth. He breathed more freely when they were safely out in the street.

"And where is the new boarding-house?" he asked presently. He wanted to change the subject; every moment he was afraid that he would say something to give himself away. He supposed he had behaved like an impetuous fool. He ought never to have posted that letter--ought never to have opened Ashton's; and yet--if he had not done so.... He looked down at the girl beside him, and wondered grimly how she would have felt if he had allowed that callous farewell to reach her.

"It's quite close to where we are now," she told him. "It's rather more expensive than the last one, but it's well worth the extra money, and"--she glanced up at him smilingly--"I'm better off to-day than I was yesterday," she explained. "And when I go back to work again----"

"Are you going back, then?" he asked quickly.

"Of course I am. I must do something, and they will take me back at Eldred's, I know----"

"Eldred's!" Micky frowned. "That's the petticoat shop, isn't it?"

She laughed.

"Yes; how did you know?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I've seen the place lots of times. A girl I know buys all her----" He stopped. "Do you want to go back there?" he asked.

"Not particularly, but it's easier than looking for a fresh place, and I know they will take me. I'm in the workroom, and it's not really such a hard life."

Micky did some rapid thinking; it was surprising how easily his brain had taken to hard work during the last twenty-four hours.

"Why don't you get a job as a companion to a nice old lady or somebody?" he suggested vaguely.

She laughed again.

"It doesn't sound a bit attractive," she said frankly. "I think you need an awful lot of patience. It's very kind of you to be interested, but I think I shall go back to Eldred's, for a time, at least."

Micky did not like the idea at all, but he let the subject drop.

"Are you going back to the Brixton Road?" he asked after a moment.

"Oh no; I paid them before I left this afternoon, so I shall go straight to the new place."

"I should like to walk there with you, if I may," said Micky.

"Of course you may."

"And when shall I see you again?" he asked. "You're not going to vanish for days, are you? I've got no end of time to kill, and----"

"But I haven't," she reminded him. "At least, I shan't have when I start work. But I should like to see you again," she added kindly.

"Thank you," said Micky with faint sarcasm.

He felt vaguely disappointed with the whole afternoon. She was holding him so decidedly at arm's length. He supposed it was that infernal fellow Ashton that stood between them. There was a sort of irony, too, in the fact that he himself had by his own action established him more firmly than ever in this girl's affections.

And the fellow was not worth a thought! That was the rotten part of it. As he looked at her he felt strongly tempted to blurt out the truth; to tell her that it was he who wrote that letter--to undeceive her once and for all.

But the thing was manifestly impossible. She would probably think it an abominable thing to have opened Ashton's letter; she would probably be furious if he let her know that the money she had received had come from him. Whichever way he turned he seemed to be in a corner.