Micky gave a sigh of relief. He drew his coat and the rug more closely around her; he was very cold himself, but that did not trouble him; he finished the contents of the supper basket before he went back to his own corner.
The train rumbled on through the night; it dragged into many little stations and stopped jerkily, but Esther did not wake.
Once when she moved and the rug slipped, Micky rose and quietly replaced it. He was very tired himself, but his brain would not allow him to sleep; he felt as if he were living through years during these long hours.
He sat looking at Esther with wistful eyes. Why was it that people never fell in love with the right people? he asked himself vaguely. He could have made her so happy.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then dragged them open again. He must not go to sleep, whatever happened. He sat up stiffly.
Presently he lifted a corner of the blind. The sky looked a little lighter, as if dawn were not far away. He looked at his watch. Nearly two!
A sudden impulse came to him to wake Esther and make her listen now to what he had to say. The time was getting short, and there was so much to tell her and explain.
He rose and bent over her, but she did not move, and he went back again to his corner.
He let the window down a little way, hoping the cold night air would help to keep him awake. The minutes seemed to drag, though in reality only a quarter of an hour had passed when Esther woke with a little smothered cry.
"It's all right--there's nothing to be afraid of--you've been asleep."
She rubbed her eyes childishly with her knuckles; she stared at him for a moment unrecognisingly, then, as memory returned, she shrank back into her corner.
Micky picked up the rug and coat that had slithered to the floor; he waited a few moments till he saw that she was quite awake before he spoke, then he said gently--
"I hope you feel better. We shall soon be in now. Are you warm enough?"
"We shall be into Paris very soon," he said again; "and there is a great deal I want to say to you first. Will you listen to me if I try to explain?"
"There is only one man who can possibly explain anything to me," she said then, "and he is not you."
Micky lost his temper; he was cold and tired and hungry, and at that moment she seemed the most unreasonable of mortals.