The Phantom Lover Part 65

She did not answer; she felt a little chill of disappointment. He had not asked a single question about Raymond, and now he was suggesting that they travel the long journey separately.

He hesitated.

"Will you be all right?" he asked awkwardly.

"Yes, thank you."

He went away, and presently the train started. Esther looked out of the window and watched the city as it was rapidly left behind.

"I never want to see it again," was the thought in her heart. "I wish I never had seen it."

She felt like a naughty child who has run away from home and is being ignominiously brought back.

Last night seemed like some fevered dream; Raymond Ashton some man of whom she had read in a book or seen in a play.

A phantom lover!--he had not even been that, and once she had wished to die because she had got to be separated from him.

Her eyes fell on her hand--she still wore his ring.

With sudden pa.s.sion she dragged it from her finger; she let the window down with a run and flung the ring far out into the grey evening. It was the end of a dream; the final uprooting of an illusion.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

Esther slept through the long journey fitfully--she was mentally and physically exhausted. She was only thoroughly aroused by people out in the corridor moving about collecting bags and baggage.

She opened her eyes with a confused feeling--the train was slackening speed, and Micky stood in the doorway.

"We are nearly in," he said.

The train was almost at a standstill.

"Calais! Calais!"

Esther rose to her feet--her limbs were trembling, and her head ached dully.

Micky took her suit-case from the rack.

"You'd better fasten your coat," he said casually. "It will be cold on the boat."

She looked at him half fearfully. Was this the same man who had followed her from Enmore with such pa.s.sionate haste and eagerness? He was perfectly undisturbed now at all events, he seemed even to avoid looking at her.

When they got on board he found her a chair on the leeside of the boat.

"Are you a good sailor?" he asked.

"I don't know. I've never been any distance until yesterday."

"You'd better stay here; it's preferable to that stuffy cabin."

But he left her alone almost the whole time, though she knew that he walked up and down close to where she sat. She could see the glow of his cigar through the darkness and hear the slow sound of his steps.

She tried to think things over quietly as she sat there, but everything seemed so unreal, and most of all the fact that Micky had once professed to love her.

In the train he left her to herself till they reached London. He was sure she "did not want to be bothered," he said, and he was going to smoke.

Esther felt a little pang of disappointment. It seemed a long time till the train steamed fussily into Charing Cross; and the old weary feeling of loneliness had settled again upon her heart by the time Micky came to the door of the carriage.

"June is sure to be somewhere about," he said laconically. "Will you stay here while I see if I can find her?"

She took a hurried step forward.

"No, I'll come with you."

She felt afraid of June's kindly quizzical eyes; June who knew why she had run away to Paris, and what had been awaiting her there.

She touched Micky's arm--the eyes she raised to his face were troubled.

"When shall I see you again?" she asked falteringly.

He half smiled.

"Why do you want to see me again?" he questioned gravely. "You can have no use for me--after this!"

Esther flushed painfully. Through the crowd she saw June pus.h.i.+ng towards them. This was the last moment she would have with Micky, she knew, and in a flash something seemed to tell her what this man had meant to her during the last two terrible days.

"Oh," she said tremblingly, "if you only would let me thank you."

Micky laughed harshly--

"I hate thanks," he said.

June was upon them; she seized Esther and kissed her rapturously.

"You darling! You'll never know how glad I am to see you. I've been here for hours. Aren't you dead tired? Micky, she looks worn out."

"Does she?" said Micky.

He was dead beat himself; he looked round vacantly.

"I wired Driver--I thought he'd be here...."

"Here, sir," said a voice at his elbow, and there was Driver, stolid and impenetrable as ever.

Micky was unfeignedly glad to see the little man; for almost the first time in his life he realised that sometimes dullness and short-sightedness are a blessing in disguise. Apparently to Driver there was nothing odd in this mad rush over to Paris; his expressionless eyes saw the untidiness of his master' toilet without changing.