He sat staring down the dismal garden with moody eyes. He knew it was a big risk; he thought of her as he had first seen her and as he had last seen her. He had never once really thought that she looked happy--she had never quite lost the shadow in her eyes or the droop to her lips which he had at first noticed, and he wanted her to be happy. He wanted her happiness far more than he wanted his own.
He took the letter from his pocket and looked at the address on the envelope. "Raymond Ashton, Esq...."
He hated the sight of that name--some day Esther would hate it too, when she knew how he had deceived her.
"I'll chance it," said Mickey under his breath, and drew out the letter again.
"MY DARLING BOY,--You can never know how glad and happy I was to get your letter to-night and to know that I can really write to you at last. I have been so miserable during these weeks in spite of all your goodness--and you have been good. It makes me feel mean and ungrateful now when I remember how horrid I often was to you before you went away. When you come back I will make it all up to you, and show you how nice I really can be, because I do love you--I have never loved any one but you. Thank you so much for the money you have sent me--I was very much down on my luck when it came. They haven't a vacancy for me just now at Eldred's, or else they did not want me back, and I am going to try and find another berth. I am living in a new boarding-house, as you will see; it's ever so much nicer than the Brixton Road, and I shall be able to stay on now you are so generously sending me money. I have made a nice friend here, too, a girl named June Mason--she tells me that she knows your mother, and you, too!--I did not let her know how well I knew you, dear, as I thought perhaps you would rather I said nothing about it. She has a man friend who sometimes comes to see her--a Mr. Mellowes--she thinks the world of him, but I think he is detestable...."
Mickey caught his breath hard. After a moment he went on reading:
"June tells me he is very rich, and quite a 'somebody,' but I cannot see anything out of the ordinary about him, and he isn't a bit good looking. He knows you, too--but he does not say much about you. Dearest, it seems such a long time since I saw you--and I cannot help wondering if you really miss me and want me as much as I want you.... Sometimes I would give just anything to lay my head on your shoulder and say how much I love you. I'm very lonely, really; though June is so kind she isn't any one of my very own, is she? And now I wonder if you will be very angry with me if I ask you something? I don't think I should have dared to, only your last letters have been so dear and kind. Raymond, why can't I come out to you and be with you? We could get married, and we should be ever so happy even if we have to be poor--at least, I know I could, and from your letters, somehow I think it sounds as if you, too, have realised that there isn't much happiness away from me. I have had the offer of a good post--I won't tell you what it is, as I want it to be a surprise to you if I do take it. But if you would like me to come, I will just leave everything and come to you. Couldn't you send me a wire when you get this letter? I shall be longing and waiting to hear from you. I am a little bit afraid in my heart, really, now I have written this, but your last letter is lying beside me, and I keep peeping at it and reading what you say there, and somehow I feel that it's going to be all right.--