He saw that she did not desire to give any further explanation, and he led her on to a balcony. On his way he found her wrap, and as they stood looking into the green park that lay beneath them, he put the wrap round her shoulders. Esmeralda leaned on the rails, and looked down with half-parted lips and thoughtful eyes.
“This is nice,” she said. “The air is so cool, and the trees look so green and fresh down there.” She leaned over the rail still further, and looked down, and watched the passers-by on the pavement below. Some of them paused a moment to listen to the music, some smiled, and a few glanced at the brilliantly lighted windows with a scowl.
“How they must wish that they were here,” she said, musingly.
Trafford had been looking at her, but as she spoke he came to her side and leaned over with her.
“What a lot of poor people there are in London,” she said; “and how they must hate us who have everything they haven’t got. It doesn’t seem fair. Now, why should you and I be beautifully dressed, and be dancing here while these poor people are trudging alone with, perhaps, not enough clothes to wear or food to eat?”
“Were there no poor people at Three Star, the place you came from?” he asked, amused by her socialism.
“Oh, yes,” she said; “but we were all together alike. It didn’t matter whether you were rich or poor; besides, you might be poor one day and rich the next; that was the fun of it. Now, these poor people can never be rich; there’s no gold for them to find. Look at that woman there—see, she’s just coming along—how thin and pale she looks, and cold, too, though it’s a warm night; she is hungry, I’m certain; I know the look! I should like to bring her in and take her in to that great supper-room, and make her eat as much as she could, and give her plenty of champagne!”
He watched her face curiously.
“I wonder whether she’d be angry if I gave her some money? Perhaps she’s got some children at home as hungry as she is!”