A handsome man, if sloe-black eyes and high colour constituted good looks. Women admired him. Men shrugged their shoulders impatiently. "Neither. I was running away from my own thoughts." "Ah!" He drew a soft breath. When women hurried to escape their thoughts Gore Helmsley thought he could guess at the meaning. "I feel lost to-day." Esmé was glad to find a friend to speak to. "Poor, an outcast amid the wealth of London." "Joy," he said caressingly, "looked yesterday as though the world denied her nothing." "A week ago she would have said so. To-day--" Esmé frowned. The dark man used his own dictionary. He had grown to admire this dazzling woman. Discontent on married lips generally meant the fruit grew weary of its tree and would come lightly to the hand stretched to pick it. "Lunch with me," he said. "I can break a dull engagement. To-morrow we shall endeavour to assail eight courses at the Holbrooks. To-day we might try the Berkeley, or the Carlton, or the Ritz." Esmé had promised to meet Bertie at his club; the club was dull; she wanted to play at being rich to-day, to look enviously at the people who spent money. "The Ritz," she said. "If you'll tempt me with quails and asparagus. And if you can get a table." Jimmie was not given to extravagance, but this was worth it. They strolled across seething Piccadilly, with its riot of noise and traffic; they went into the big hotel. An ordered luncheon takes time. They sat in the hall waiting, watching the tide of wealth sweep in. The glass doors swung and flashed as motors and taxis brought the luncheon-goers to their destination. Jimmie knew everyone. "Coraline de Vine." He nodded at the girl whom Esmé had seen buying. "And Trent. He says he does not know what his income is. People say he may marry her--he's infatuated. Did you see her new car? It cost two thousand. I saw him buying it for her. That emerald she's wearing is the celebrated Cenci stone. He got it at Christie's for her last week--outbid everyone." Thousands--thousands. Esmé's eyes glittered hungrily. She opened her pretty mouth as if she were thirsty for all this gold, as if she would bathe herself in it, drink it if she could. "And see Lord Ellis and the bride. She was no one--his parson's daughter. She has probably spent more on that frock than papa has for half a year's income." A big, rather cunning-looking girl, healthy and young. "Mamma wanted to send the two children up to me this week," she said, as she paused near Esmé. "I said it was absurd, in the season. They can slip up in July before we shut up the house. Doris wants to see a dentist, mamma says; they _are_ so expensive up here. I have discouraged her; the man at home is much cheaper." Already anxious to keep her prize money to herself. Not to share it with her sisters. Later, when they grew up, she would give them a chance, not now. Already a _grande dame_, spending only where it pleased her. Wealth everywhere, and with Esmé this new discontent.