Erratically dreaming of riches Esmé left a game of bridge and flew off to the big restaurant. It was crowded for tea-time, people gathering at the little tables. The cold air called for furs. Their rich softness was everywhere, and among them all Esmé felt her coat attracted admiring eyes. Over her black dress, the blue lining brilliant over the dark, with her hair massed against a dead black hat, Esmé was remarkable. "An actress?" she heard a woman ask. What Esmé would call a stodgy woman, expensively dressed, a country cousin with a London friend. "No, a Mrs Carteret, remarkable-looking, isn't she?" "Well, Bertie. _What_ is it?" Esmé could scarcely wait as her husband ordered tea. "What has Uncle Hugh done?" "Well, nothing. It is all for your approval, but Uncle Hugh is lonely. He wants his nephew to live near him. There is a great deal of business to see to. The Seaford estate and the Devonshire place, he farmed both. Uncle Hugh found the journeying trying." Briefly, he offered to pay Bertie the same pay as he had drawn from the Army, together with travelling expenses, if he would stay in London and go down to these places when necessary. No more. "He hasn't promised to leave you the money then?" Esmé asked. "Oh, it suits me splendidly, I hated leaving town." "No." Bertie Carteret shook his head. "He has promised me nothing, merely that I shall not lose through leaving the Army, nothing more." Esmé grew angry then, abused the rich old man, forgot his trouble in her annoyance. "He has so much. Why should we starve now when we are young?" she flashed. "We have never quite starved, Es." Bertie Carteret laughed, then looked grave. "I thought we were so comfortable, so happy." "One seems to want more and more as one lives in town." Esmé looked sullen. She too had thought the same, less than a year ago. Been so sure of it that she hated the thought of the third being who would have disturbed their peace. And now with so much more money she seemed poorer. "That is a wonderful coat." Bertie looked admiringly at his wife. "You're wonderful altogether, Esmé, this time. With the stamp of Paris on your frocks. But of course Denise gave you heaps of things. You did a lot for her." Esmé began to plan, to grow brighter. "We must take a little house, Bertie, get away from that box, nearer our friends." "But we shall be no better off," he said. "Oh, you must get money out of the old man. We'll save the rent on taxis. Who is it, Bertie?" For Bertie had jumped up and was shaking hands with a slim girl of about twenty. Brown-haired, grey-eyed, pretty in a quiet way. "It's Miss Reynolds," he said. "Miss Reynolds, Esmé. Mrs Reynolds was so kind to me at Pretoria when I was ill." "Ill!" Esmé held out a jewelled hand. "I thought it was only repentance and indigestion." "It was fever." Estelle Reynolds's voice was slow and musical, restful as her gentle face. "Captain Carteret was very ill, and my uncle tried to cure him."