"Of course! It's our duty. Now why don't you have a club like me? My dear, until I started my club for waitresses I was at a loose end. And it's so interesting. Why, I've been brought into close contact with people I should never have seen otherwise except across a crumby table. I assure you, it's been quite a revelation to me. You'd be surprised to find how different my girls are, one from another. Oh yes, indeed, quite distinguishable, I assure you; and I think I can really claim to know each one individually. And many of them have learned to confide in me quite a lot." "Now that must be fascinating," said Mary. "Yet it's hardly surprising when you think of their homes. Of course I never go to their homes. Oh no, I make a point of never doing that. I say to myself, 'Two nights a week, Ella, you are pledged to your girls.' And I can assure you, Mary, that I never fail to be with them unless I have a dinner-party or some social engagement. Do, my dear, take my advice and start a club. You speak French well, don't you? Why not found a club for French seamstresses in Soho? And now I simply must run. Good-by, you dear attractive creature," Mrs. Wryford exclaimed, kissing Mary warmly on each cheek. In the door she stopped a moment. "I always say and I always shall say that I enjoy the few minutes we have together every Friday more than anything in the week. Good-by, you dear thing. It's still quite light. I always think it's a sign of spring when the days really begin to draw out. Good-by! Good-by!" How Grandmamma used to dislike women of the type of Mrs. Wryford, Mary thought. "And I expect in another thirty years I shall dislike them just as much as she did." At dinner that night Mary broached the subject of a club for girls to her husband. "French seamstresses!" he exclaimed. "What on earth next will you be wanting to do? Aren't the children enough of a responsibility?" "They're no responsibility at all," Mary argued. "You won't allow them to be. Don't you remember what a fuss you made when you discovered I was taking out Geoffrey and Muriel every afternoon?" "I didn't make a fuss. I never do make a fuss. I don't suppose that a less fussy man than myself exists. I merely observed that for you to wear yourself out looking after children while a mob of nurses and nurse-maids were eating off their heads doing nothing at home was ridiculous. Surely there's a happy medium between dragging a perambulator round Kensington Gardens and founding clubs for French seamstresses?" Mary sat silent for a while pondering her tactics, while Jemmie, with what she felt was unnecessary gusto, ate a large slice of turbot. "I don't think there's any need to sulk ..." he began: but at the moment one of the parlormaids came within range of the conversation, and, as Mary thought cynically, her husband had not yet reached such a pitch of married boredom as would let him be rude to her in front of the servants.