She made her farewells quite cheerfully when Williams came to fetch her, still thinking of her mother’s repeated congratulations and praises.
It came upon her as a shock, as they were driving away, when Williams observed dryly:
“That’s over, and now there’ll be no need for you to be over here very often, Elsie, or vice versa. You must remember that my house is your only home, now.”
PART II
I
The European war affected Elsie Williams as much, or as little, as it affected many other young women. She had been married a little over a year in August 1914.
She was vaguely alarmed, vaguely thrilled, moved to a great display of emotional enthusiasm at the sight of a khaki uniform and at the sound of a military band.
Later on, she sang and hummed “Keep the Home Fires Burning,” “Tipperary,” and “We Don’t Want to Lose You, but we Think you Ought to Go,” and was voluble and indignant about the difficulties presented by sugar rations and meat coupons. She resented the air raids over London, and devoured the newspaper accounts of the damage done by them; she listened to, and eagerly retailed, anecdotes such as that of the Angels of Mons, or that of the Belgian child whose hands had been cut off by German soldiers; and after a period in which she declared that “everybody” would be ruined, she found herself in possession of more money than ever before.
Never before had so many clients presented themselves to Messrs. Williams and Cleaver, and never before had there been so much money about. Elsie bought herself a fur coat and a great many other things, and went very often to the cinema, and sometimes to the theatre. She very soon found, however, that Williams, when he could not take her out himself, disliked her going with anybody else.
He was willing enough that she should take Irene with her, or her sister Geraldine, but if she went out with any man, Williams became coldly, caustically angry, and sooner or later always found an opportunity for quarrelling with him.