‘They were all for Gaston. You know how he likes to see fresh fruit and flowers on the breakfast-table.’
‘I know that the strawberries smell uncommonly good. They are to be kept, of course, for Gaston’s return?’
‘Oh, no.’ Dinah’s voice was blankly indifferent. ‘I don’t care now what becomes of them.’
‘You would do well to care!’ exclaimed Geoffrey, looking round on her, shortly. ‘There are a good many millions of people in the world, remember, besides Gaston Arbuthnot.’
‘Geoffrey!’
‘Yes, a good many millions, the majority of them poor, an enormous percentage—suffering. Gaston and you, and I, are surfeited with good things. We are certain every day we live that we shall dine—think of that, Mrs. Arbuthnot, dine, with the accompaniment of as many strawberries and roses as we choose to buy.’
The blood mantled hot over Dinah Arbuthnot’s weary face.
‘You mean to remind me that I am selfish?’ she said, very low. ‘I know it, Geoffrey. I know that I am sinking fast into everything that is bad.’
‘In the common meaning of the words, you are the least selfish woman living. But you are self-absorbed—no, even that is saying too much—you are Gaston-absorbed. If you could see how some half-starved people manage to get along—yes, and to be cheerful over their crust—you might think less of strawberries and roses for Gaston’s breakfast-table.’