It was too cold, too bitter to walk about. They rang up friends, played bridge. Esmé ordered dinner at the flat, asked Dolly to come down and bring a man, then telephoned imperiously to the new cook. "Dinner for four, order what you want. It must be nice, remember. It must be. Get some forced things, sweets, have salmon. Use your wits." "It is a dear little hole. I'll be sorry to leave it," Bertie said, as they came back to the brightly-lighted little drawing-room. "Why do you want to, girlie?" "It's so out of the way," Esmé grumbled. The new maid put her into a dress of clinging black. One must mourn for first cousins. Dolly was full of curiosity. Bertie was heir now. It was quite a change. "So nice, dear Esmé, to come to one of your wonderful little dinners again." The only wonder of this dinner was its expense. The new cook had gone to Harrod's stores, chosen everything which cost money. Tinned turtle soup, plain boiled salmon, tinned and truffled entrée, tinned chicken, and a bought sweet. Esmé grew angrier as it went on. Hated the guests' lack of appetite, their polite declaimers as she abused her food. "I begin to hate this place," Esmé stormed to Dolly. "It's too small, good servants won't come here. Hardness was a good chance. She's gone to Denise Blakeney now, she can afford to pay her what she wanted, I couldn't." Cards too went against Esmé. She lost and lost again, made declarations which depended on luck, and found it desert her. They did not play for high points, but she made side bets, and it mounted up. She cut with Bertie, saw his eyebrows raise as she went a reckless no trumper. "My dear, what had you got?" he asked. "Oh, a king and ace. I expected something above a ten from you, Bertie." The Midshires were coming to Aldershot at once. Esmé had never been with the regiment. She did not want to leave London. She coaxed Bertie next day. Why not wait for another adjutancy, leave her in the flat, he could come up so often. But the very weapons she used turned against her, the caress of her lips, her clinging arms were not things to leave. No, she must come to Aldershot. They would find a house and be happy there. "And the bills, sweetheart?" Bertie Carteret had always seen to them. "I suppose you paid up all the old ones so we'll start fresh." Esmé had forgotten her bills. She was irritable over money, cried out that her husband had learnt miser's thoughts in South Africa. "You fell in love with a good housewife there, Bert," she mocked, "who fried the cold potatoes of overnight for breakfast. Come, confess.... We've heaps of money to be foolish on, don't bother." "There was never a penny left over," he said. "If we were sick, or if, well, anything happened we had no margin." Esmé frowned sullenly. Two hours later she was rung up at her club. "Esmé, I've seen Uncle Hugh, he wired for me. He is going to live in London, and he wants to make arrangements. Meet me at once. Where? Oh, the Carlton will do."