The Phantom Lover Part 59

"Esther, speak to me--say something--for heaven's sake----"

She moved in a curiously heavy sort of way, as if it were an effort; she raised her eyes to his agitated face.

"This morning--was it only this morning?--it seems so long ago." She stopped for a moment, then went on again slowly. "When we were at that inn in the village--those men with the car--I heard them talking...."

She stopped again.

"Yes," said Micky.

She frowned as if his monosyllable had interrupted her train of thought. She went on presently--

"They were talking about Paris--and Raymond." And now she raised her eyes. "If you say that it was true what I heard them say, I will kill you," she said with sudden pa.s.sion. "It's a lie--just a lie to hurt me, to hurt me more than I've been hurt already." She stopped, panting. "It's a lie--say it's a lie," she drove the words at him.

Micky sat down beside her.

"If they said that Ashton had been married in Paris to Mrs. Clare it was the truth," he said.

He marvelled at the steadiness of his voice. He felt sick with shame at the part he was having to play. He went on incoherently--

"I knew it before you ever went to Enmore--it was in the London papers. I was afraid you would see it. I persuaded June to get you down into the country. I suppose I was a fool. I ought to have known it was only putting things off."

He looked at her and quickly away again.

"Forget him, Esther, for G.o.d's sake. He never cared for you; he isn't worth a thought."

She rose to her feet, pus.h.i.+ng the hair back from her face as if she were distraught.

"How dare you say such things to me?" she said in an odd, choked voice. "You always hated him--you and June. Do you think I'm going to believe you? Do you think I could believe you for a moment when I have his letters--when he has shown me in so many ways how he cares?... I don't care what you say--I don't care if the whole world were to tell me it was true--I'll never believe it till he tells me himself...."

Her breath came gaspingly; she looked at Micky's white face with pa.s.sionate hatred in her eyes.

"How do I know it isn't all a made-up story?" she asked him hoa.r.s.ely.

She hardly knew what she was saying; she leaned her arms on the mantelshelf and hid her face in them.

Micky let her alone; he got up and began pacing up and down the room.

He deserved everything she had said; it was all his fault that she had got this to bear. With the best intentions in the world he had proved himself a blundering fool.

Esther raised her head; she had not shed a tear, but her face was white and desolate.

She walked past him to the door.

"I'm going on to Paris to-night," she said. "Nothing you can say will stop me--nothing."

"Very well, then I will come with you."

She did not answer; she fumbled helplessly with the door handle. Micky came forward to open it for her, and their hands touched. A little flame of red rushed to his face; he put his shoulders to the door.

"You can't go like this," he said stammering. "How can I let you go like this? Whatever I've done, I haven't deserved that you should think as badly of me as you do. It was because I cared for you so much--I tried to save you pain ... perhaps it isn't any excuse, but it's the truth.... I'd give my very soul if I could undo what's gone, if I could save you from this."

She was not looking at him, but the cold contempt in her face stung him.

"You may despise me," he broke out again jaggedly. "But it's the truth I've told you.... Ashton never cared for you; that night at my rooms...." He stopped, he did not want to tell her, but somehow there was a compelling force within him that drove the words to his lips.

"He told me he'd had to break with you--that he was going away from London because of you. He said he must marry a woman with money--it's the truth, if I never speak again. He never cared for you, Esther--he was never fit to kiss the ground you walk on. He wanted to be rid of you--he----"

Micky stopped; Esther had given a little strangled cry, half-sob, half-moan, like some animal in mortal pain; for the moment she saw the world red; hardly knowing what she did, she lifted her hand and struck Micky across his white face.

"Oh, you liar--you liar," she said. The words were a hoa.r.s.e whisper, her voice was almost gone.

She fell away from him, shaking in every limb; she dropped into a chair hiding her face.

Micky stood like a man turned to stone. She had not hurt him physically, though there was a red flush where she had struck him, but he felt as if the blow had fallen on his aching heart and his love for her.

It seemed a long time before either of them moved or spoke, then Esther dragged herself to her feet.

"Please let me pa.s.s," she said in a whisper, and Micky stood aside without a word.

He followed her out and inquired for a train; there was a slow one at ten-fifty they told him. He put Esther into a carriage and got a rug for her and a cus.h.i.+on. He knew she had had nothing to eat, and he ordered a basket to be made up at the refreshment-room. When he came back she was sitting in a corner with her eyes closed. She had taken off her hat, and her golden hair was tumbled about her face. She took no notice when he put the rug over her; she did not even open her eyes when the train started.

Micky sat down in the opposite corner. He felt more tired than he had ever done in all his life, and yet he knew that he could not sleep; his brain seemed as if it would never rest again. He sat with face averted from the girl in the corner, looking out into the darkness.

It seemed strange to realise that he had made this same journey dozens of times before. He felt that it was all strange and distasteful to him. The chattering voices of the French porters and the whistle of the engines sounded new and quaint as if he had never heard them before. It seemed an eternity before the train started slowly away.

He leaned back and closed his eyes; his head was splitting, and he was cold and hungry.

He must have dozed for a few minutes, for he was roused by a little choking sound of sobbing. He opened his eyes--he was awake at once--he looked across at Esther. She was lying huddled up, with her face turned against the dirty cus.h.i.+ons of the carriage, sobbing her heart out.

Micky looked at her in miserable indecision. Then he got up impulsively, and sat down opposite to where Esther was huddled.

He stretched out his hand and took hers.

"Don't cry--don't; I can't bear it," he said hoa.r.s.ely. He raised her hand to his lips. She had taken off her gloves and her fingers felt like ice. He chafed them gently between his own. She still wore the cheap little ring which Ashton had given her months ago.

She let her hand lie pa.s.sively in his. Perhaps she was too miserable to remember that it was Micky, and only realised that there was something kind and comforting in his touch. Presently her sobs quieted. She wiped the tears from her face and brushed back her disordered hair.

Micky got up and took down the supper basket he had managed to get at the station. There was a small thermos of hot coffee. He poured some out and made her drink it. If he had expected her to refuse he was agreeably disappointed. She obeyed apathetically; she even ate some sandwiches.

Micky was ravenous himself, but he would not touch a thing till she had finished.

"You'd be much more comfortable if you put your feet up on the seat and tried to sleep," he said presently. "You can have my coat as well as the rug. Your hands are like ice."

He took off his coat as he spoke and laid it over her.

"I'm afraid we've got a long journey yet," he said ruefully. "If you could get some sleep."

She turned her head away and closed her eyes.

She looked very young and appealing in the depressing light of the carriage.