ding it at arm's length, admiring its beauty.

"It was a lovely present, wasn't it?" She appealed to Micky.

"Yes," he said.

She laid her cheek to the big, soft collar.

"It's something I have wanted all my life," she told him.

Micky put out his hand and took it from her. He hated to see her
standing there looking so happy because she believed it had come from
Ashton; he threw it down on the couch.

"I shall have to be going," he said abruptly. He shook hands with
June, but he walked out of the room without speaking to Esther.

"I don't want any dinner," he told Driver when he got in. "I'm going
to bed."

Driver opened his mouth to say something and closed it again; he
brought the evening papers and his master's slippers and turned to
leave the room. At the door he stopped and looked back.

"Have you seen the evening paper, sir?" he asked deprecatingly.

"No," said Micky. Something in the man's voice arrested his attention;
he turned in his chair. "Why?" he asked curtly.

Driver came back a step.

"There's a notice of Mr. Ashton's marriage in it, that's all, sir," he
said woodenly. "I thought that you'd be interested."

CHAPTER XXII

So it had come at last. Micky sat staring down at the small paragraph
which briefly announced the marriage of Tubby Clare's wealthy widow to
Mr. Raymond Ashton.

The ceremony, so the paper declared, which had taken place quietly in
Paris would be a complete surprise to everybody. Mrs. Clare, as all
the world knew, inherited something like L90,000 under the will of her
late husband.

Micky whistled softly. Raymond had done well for himself. He would
be able to live in luxury for the rest of his life; to discharge all
his debts, if his wife chose to allow him to do so; all but one
debt--the greatest of them all, and one which he could never hope to
liquidate--a woman's broken heart.

Esther--what would she say if she knew? And supposing she knew
now----! It was quite likely that a copy of this same paper had fallen
into her hands. The thought turned Micky cold; he looked up hurriedly
at the clock--not yet eight! On what pretext could he go back to
Elphinstone Road?

He threw the paper down and rose to his feet. His gloves! He would
make them the excuse--he could go back for his gloves. He taxied down
the whole way; he sent his name up to June and waited in the hall.
After a moment she came flying down the stairs.

"Micky! Is anything the matter? What in the