gly.

"Esther...."

He drew her hands down; he forced her to look at him; for a long
moment his eyes searched her face disbelievingly, not daring to
hope....

Her cheeks flamed, but she met his eyes bravely.

Micky drew a long breath; he passed a hand across his eyes as if to
waken himself.

Then all at once he seemed to realise that this was in very truth the
woman he wanted sitting beside him; that she was here and for his
sake; that he was alone and unhappy no longer; and that after all the
weeks of hunger and restlessness he had got his heart's desire.

He looked down at her tremulous face with eyes of passionate
tenderness.

"Is this my wife?" he asked hoarsely, and Esther answered--

"If you still want me."

"Want you!" Micky caught her to him. "Haven't I always wanted
you?..."

Fortunately the train was not very full, and the corridor immediately
outside their carriage was deserted, or somebody might have had a very
interesting demonstration of how to kiss a woman who had refused for
months to be kissed.

Micky was like a boy in his happiness. He looked years younger than
the gloomy man who had dismissed Driver ten minutes since. He could
not take his eyes from Esther--he could not believe in his own
happiness even while he was engulfed in it. His arm was round her,
regardless of chance wanderers in the corridor--he held her hand to
his lips and kissed it passionately.

"What have you done with ... that other ring you used to wear?" he
asked jealously.

She turned her face away.

"I threw it out of the window when we came back from Paris," she told
him.

"I'll give you another. I'm going to give you everything you want
now."

"You've been too good to me already," she said. "I can never repay
you."

"You've given me yourself. There is nothing else in the world that I
want."

He laughed happily.

He bent his head towards her.

"Esther ... when did you ... when did you first ... think that you
liked me ... just a little?"

Her head dropped; he could not see her face.

"I don't know," she said in a whisper.

"In Paris," he urged, "or before? Tell me."

"I think it was in Paris--after ... after I saw ... Raymond! You were
so kind ... so different."

He laughed ruefully.

"I was nearer hating you then than ever in my life."

He saw the colour creep into her face. "You've told me ever so many
times that you hated me," he went on quickly, "but you never told me
that you ... loved