"It will have to be Town with a difference very soon," he said, sighing. Economy again--money; he thought of nothing else. She was not back five minutes and he was preaching at her. He could look up what he'd paid for her clothes last year. It wasn't so much. "And I'm better dressed than rich women," stormed Esmé, hysterically. "You might be proud of me instead of grumbling--always grumbling." The taxi stopped at the door of the tall buildings. There was no home in it to Bertie. The hall porter greeted them. The lift took them upwards to their flat, past other flats, and then into the pretty rooms. Marie was ready waiting, supplying the petit soins which Bertie had forgotten. "Pauvre Madame is tired." Marie had a cup of coffee with but just a soupçon of eau de vie. The bath was prepared. She hovered round Esmé, getting a soft wrapper, soothing jangled nerves. Marie was a treasure! Esmé took up her letters. Bills, invitations, more bills, a scrawl from Dollie asking them to dinner. Esmé had forgotten her ill-humour. "Bertie, we're dining out--telephone to Dollie. Yes, I said we'd go." Dollie Gresham's was better than dinner in the restaurant, or brought up by a flat-faced German to their dining-room. Bertie distrusted the tinned soup, the besauced entrées and tasteless meat. He was glad to go out. Esmé had told him nothing; he was hurt and would not show it. "Ring up the coupé people, Marie. Dollie may be going to a theatre, Bert." "We must owe them a fortune," was on Bertie's lips, but he stopped. To even ask if a taxi would do might disturb peace. Dollie wanted them for bridge. Her little dinners surpassed Esmé's now. They were a party of eight, Dollie's bitterly clever tongue keeping away all fears of dullness. "Cousin May was here to-night, Esmé; she came from Paris to-day also. She saw you there--at the Ritz, having a dinner with blue-eyed Tommy. You heard some pretty tales before that evening was over, Esmé. Let's have them now." "Am I to undermine the peace of this dinner-table?" Esmé's wit was fairly ready, and she watched with a smile as women flushed and men looked uncomfortable. "Unsavoury little dustman," said Bertie, sharply. Esmé had not told him of her dinner. His look at her made the table know it, and gave them something to talk of afterwards. "Sly Esmé, setting up as such a model too. And Tommy of all men. She was a friend of Jimmie Helmsley's once, too; _don't_ you remember he dropped her for the Chauntsey girl?" people whispered. The teeth of Society loves a bone of scandal to crunch. After dinner Bertie cut in at Dollie's table, and as her partner found himself absent, playing badly, losing tricks carelessly. "I'm really sorry," he apologized, as their opponents went across for sandwiches. "I'll wake up now." "You're out of sorts," Dollie said kindly. "What is it?"