rst met Micky; everything was just as it had been then, save that
she was the poorer now by the loss of a dream.

CHAPTER XXXIV

June's friendship with Mr. George P. Rochester grew apace.

"Micky's introductions are _always_ a success," she told Esther. "And
Micky likes him too--awfully! Mr. Rochester is round at Micky's rooms
nearly every night. They're _ever_ such pals!"

"Are they?" said Esther. The mention of Micky's name always seemed to
make her heart quiver. She wondered if June knew why he never came to
the house now, and what she thought about it all.

In her own mind she was sure that Micky had cast her off, and the
knowledge left her with a sense of desolation.

She never spoke of him unless June did so first, and she tried never
to think of him. But Micky was a personality not to be lightly
dismissed from memory, and he haunted her thoughts waking and
sleeping.

"If I could only get some work," she told herself, "it would be
better. It's so dreadful having nothing to do."

She had applied to Eldred's unsuccessfully--she had climbed the narrow
stairs of the agency a dozen times only to be met with rebuff.

"You refused an excellent post I offered to you," she was told icily.
"I am not likely to be able to find you such another."

June coaxed her into helping with the "swindle."

"If you don't I'll have to pay some one else to do it," she declared.
"And oh, Esther, _don't_ be so proud!"

So Esther gave in. She filled the little mauve pots with the profound
skin food and fastened on lids and labels till her head swam.

Sometimes Mr. George P. Rochester came to help--at least he called it
"help"--but he did very little actual work, as he was always too busy
looking at June and talking to her.

"Has he suggested the partnership yet?" Esther asked one night.

June flushed rosily.

"Don't be absurd," she answered, and something in her voice woke a
little note of fear in Esther's heart.

Was she to lose June too? Was there to be nothing left to her in all
the world? Her hands shook as she went on mechanically filling the row
of little mauve pots.

"Esther," said June suddenly, "how long is it since you saw Micky?"

There was a little pause, then Esther said constrainedly. "I've never
seen him since--since we came back from Paris."

She waited a moment.

"Why?" she asked with an effort.

June kept her eyes bent on her work.

"Because I haven't seen him myself for nearly a week," s