The Phantom Lover Part 8

"If it hadn't been for you...." She stopped.

Micky did not know what to say.

"Anyway, it's all right now, eh?" he asked presently, with awkward cheerfulness. "I thought it would be; when things look so black that they can't possibly look any blacker, they always begin to mend. I've found that out before; I don't know if you have."

"I found it out this morning."

Micky looked down at her. She was sitting with her hands clasped together in her lap; there was a little flush in her cheeks, and her lips were curved into a faint smile.

"It seems so wonderful too," she went on softly, "that it should have happened on New Year's Day----"

"Fares, all fares, please," said the conductor beside them. Micky dived into a pocket and found a s.h.i.+lling.

"Two, please," he said.

He had paid for and shared taxicabs with Marie Deland times without number, but it had never given him quite the same pleasurable little thrill as he experienced at this moment.

There was something so pleasantly familiar about this tramcar ride, the fact of sharing the same uncomfortable seat with Esther Shepstone.

"Penny ones?" the conductor asked.

Micky looked at the girl.

"Where shall we get off?" he asked.

"Penny ones will do," she said.

Micky took the tickets and pocketed his change.

"I don't know if there are any decent teashops round here," he said dubiously. "If you would rather go up to the West End...."

But finally they found a confectioner's quite close to where the penny fare ended.

Micky looked round critically.

"Is this all right?" he asked. "I've never been here before."

"I have, often," she said. She was drawing off her gloves.

Micky glanced hurriedly at her hands; she was wearing a ring. Hardly knowing that he did so, he leaned across and touched it.

"Is that an engagement ring?" he asked. His voice sounded a little breathless.

She looked up at him, drawing her hand away.

"Why do you ask me?"

He drew back; he shrugged his shoulders.

"I beg your pardon. I suppose I have no right to ask."

He ordered tea. He talked rather forced plat.i.tudes for the rest of the time. He was just going to call for the bill, when Esther Shepstone said suddenly--

"Mr. Mellowes, I should like to tell you something."

"Yes!" Micky did not look at her. Somehow he could not trust himself.

"I don't in the least know why I want to tell you," she said again nervously. "But--you've been so kind to me...."

"Yes!" said Micky gently, as she paused. "Yes, what is it?"

She was twisting her teaspoon, and she kept her eyes lowered.

"Last night, when I met you--I was very unhappy ... There didn't seem anything to live for in the world.... I don't know if you've ever felt like that, or if you have ever cared for any one--really cared, I mean--but if you have...." She stopped again.

"I think I understand," Micky said, with an effort. "You mean that there's some one, some man...."

She raised her grey eyes to his face.

"Yes, that's what I mean."

"Some man you care for--care for very much," Micky went on slowly.

"Perhaps some one you have quarreled with--who hadn't been quite as ... kind as he might have been----"

The soft colour flooded her face.

"Did you guess--last night?" she asked shyly.

Micky smiled.

"Did I? I am not sure, perhaps." He drew a long breath that was half a sigh. "Well?" he queried.

"I don't know why I am telling you this----" she said again, with a sort of distress. "It cannot interest you, but, somehow, I think I should like you to know."

"It interests me very much--I am honoured that you should tell me."

Micky looked again at the ring she wore; quite a cheap little ring, with a couple of inferior diamonds. "You mean that you are engaged to be married?"

"Yes; at least----" The words were only a whisper.

Micky sat very still.

"Well, I suppose you will have me for a friend all the same, won't you?" he asked with an effort.

She looked at him in faint amazement.

"I thought if I told you that perhaps you'd rather not...." She stopped in confusion.

Micky leaned a little closer over the table.