“I’ve heard something of that. Poor little lady--she’s doing wonders, I hear. Well, well, I’ll see if they’ve anything to offer the lad, but we don’t want men without experience these days, you know. But I’d like to do something, for the sake of that gallant little lady.” III “Richard dear, I _would_ like to ask mummie and Sir Charles to dinner--supper, I mean--one night. I’ve got a little cash in hand, so I shouldn’t feel too extravagant. You know I got rather more than I expected, for the sale of that old bracelet of mine.” Richard did know, because Rita had told him this already, quite gleefully, although admitting that the bracelet had been a legacy from a specially beloved grandmother, and that it cost her a pang to let it go. “I loathe your selling your jewellery. It makes me feel such a cad for having got you into this mess, though God knows I never foresaw anything like this. Rita, _must_ you do these things?” She looked at him with a face of piteous, childlike surprise. “Oh, aren’t you _at all_ pleased that we’ve got an extra pound or two, Richard? I’m sure you’ve no idea what a difference it makes.” He groaned impatiently. “Of course, if you think I’ve no right to suggest entertaining _any_body, even on a tiny scale, now we’re so poor, I won’t do it. It was silly of me, I daresay, but I haven’t really properly got used not to having an occasional little party, I suppose. It’s all right, Richard darling. Never mind.” She smiled bravely. “Rita, I shall go mad if I can’t find a job, and take you out of this sort of thing,” said Richard, and he began to pace up and down the little room. When Lady Clyde and her husband did come to dinner, Rita told her mother privately that poor darling Richard was becoming almost hysterical sometimes. It did make things so much, much harder when one was doing all one could to keep up under the strain, and be always bright and ready to make the best of it. “No one can say you’re not doing that, my dearest child,” said her mother. Tears of mingled admiration and compassion rose to her eyes when Rita apologised gaily for the poverty of the fare, when she corrected herself every time that she mentioned the word dinner instead of supper, and when she laughingly excused herself for having to run away and help with the washing-up, because the servant now was only a daily one, and went home early. “It seemed so funny at first, mummy, and I was always ringing the bell and expecting it to be answered, like when I used to ring for Cooper or Ellis or Mary, at home. I really can’t believe that I had a maid all for myself, just to do my hair and keep my clothes tidy, not so very long ago.” “What a plucky little thing she is!” said her mother in a choked voice. She glanced resentfully at Richard, who sat silent, moody and haggard, without endorsing her tribute to his wife in any way.