"Alter it," she said carelessly. "Let it out. I expect she'll give me up now. Send her her bill at once." The heat beat down in quivering waves. All London shopped, buying, buying, since freshness lasted but for a few days, and one must not be seen in a gown more than three or four times. Tinsels and chiffons and laces; feather ruffles; silks and crepes and muslins; gloves and silken stockings piled up on the mahogany counters for Society to buy. Subtle-tongued assistants lauded their wares; there was always something which Madame had not dreamt of buying, but which she suddenly discovered to be an absolute necessity. The flower-shops showed their sheaves of cut blossoms, long-stemmed roses, carnations, lilies, pinks, monster sweet peas. Things out of season nestled in baskets in the fruiterers. Wealth everywhere, gold or promise of gold; electric motors gliding noiselessly. Slim youngsters taking their morning stroll; brown-skinned soldiers up for a few days, spending in shops behind windows which Madame and Mademoiselle passed without a glance. The richest city in the world gathered its summer harvest; and white-faced poverty, sometimes straying from their poor country, looking on, dully, resentfully envious. Sewing-machines flew in the sweltering heat, needles darted, rows of girls sat working breathlessly, that great ladies might not be disappointed. "I must have that embroidered gown for the Duchess's party, Madame." "Certainly, milady, without fail." Then a visit to the workroom--a whisper to two pale girls. "You two must stay overtime to-night, get that dress finished. It mustn't get out, either--be careful!" So, when their breath of air might be snatched, the two would stitch on under the dazzle of electric light, drink strong tea and eat bread and butter, and never dare to grumble, for there were fifty other girls who could be taken instead of them. Esmé strolled up Bond Street. She bought a ruffle which caught her fancy; she stopped to talk to half a dozen people; but she strolled on, her goal a soot-smirched square where a baby would be taking its airing. He was there, under his white awning, looking a little pale, a little peaked, wilting in the heat. Mrs Stanson knew her visitor, smiled at her, never quite understood why Esmé came to the square so often. Esmé asked for Denise first; she was always careful to know that she was out before she came, then went into the gardens. There was no air in it; the trees had no freshness; the grass looked dull and unwholesome. "Isn't he very white, Mrs Stanson--peaky?" "He should be in the country," Mrs Stanson said. "Down where his windows'd let in air at night and not the smuts from the chimneys. But her ladyship--she thinks different; she hates the country. I saw little Lord Helmington go in a hot summer because they wouldn't open Helmington Hall to send him down there with me."