"No idea," said Esmé. "I'd no idea. But so good of you.... Bertie, you should have told me." She was honestly fond of her husband. "He did not want to worry you," said Estelle Reynolds. Carteret was impressively glad to see Estelle. He talked eagerly of a dinner, a theatre. His eagerness vexed his wife. She got up, dazzlingly handsome in her furs, the emeralds gleaming on her black gown. "So sorry, Bertie, but this week is quite full, every day. Come to luncheon on Sunday, Miss Reynolds. I'll have some people to meet you." Estelle laughed pleasantly. "My Sunday will be a country cousin's," she said. "Church, a very short luncheon, and the Albert Hall. You see, I've never been to London before." The girl looked a little hurt, a little snubbed. "And I said I'd show it to you." Carteret let his wife walk on. "I'm not engaged. Let me take you and your aunt to Daly's to-night and on to the Savoy." "Comic opera." Estelle shook her brown head. "If it might be the Shakespearian piece at His Majesty's. I should love to come." It did not seem to suggest itself to Estelle to ask if Bertie Carteret's wife might wish to include him in her engagements. Esmé was one of those women who seem to stand alone. "Very well then. I'll get seats at once," he said. Making his way past little tables to the passage down the centre of the restaurant, Bertie stood for a moment looking from one woman to another. Estelle Reynolds had gone back to her tea. She was not remarkable in any way, merely a rather dowdy girl sitting alone at a little table. Esmé had stopped to speak to friends near the door. She was brilliantly handsome, flashing out gay smiles, the mirthless smile of society, and splendidly dressed. As it grew thinner her face gave promise of hardness; she had replaced her lost colour very cunningly with some rose bloom. Carteret followed her slowly. He loved his wife, her touch, a look from her blue eyes always had power to move him, but he realized suddenly that she was too brilliant, too well-dressed for a foot-soldier's wife. She was talking to Luke Holbrook, smiling at him, but the smile had lost its girlish charm; the kindly man who had been willing to help a young couple not well off had no idea of losing money to this brilliant woman. Holbrook was always simply open as to his trade. "I didn't forget your bundle of wines, fairest lady, they went on to-day." Mr Holbrook started and put up his glasses. "My love," he said, turning to his wife, "I see Lord Boredom taking tea with Miss Moover, and Mr Critennery is over there alone. My love, I fear I did not advance our interests by that most unfortunate invitation." "The Duchess," said Mrs Holbrook, "will have a stroke. No one ever broke Miss Mavis Moover's occupation to her Grace."