"No," said Ben, "but you can see them and get envious and plot terrific campaigns for to-morrow."
Cecil groaned.
"As a matter of fact," he said, "I don't see what I've gained by bringing her to London. There's a Rue de la Paix here too! The old joke had it that first you paid and then you rued, but I don't see how I can pay. It's her only fault, but it's deadly. I can't put a notice in the papers disowning her bills, because I'm not that sort, but it's getting very serious, and if something doesn't happen or someone doesn't leave me a fortune, I shall be up against it. When you see her, Ben, do try and make her understand."
"Of course I'll try," said Ben. "What a pity you haven't any children! If she had something like that to occupy her, she'd forget about dress."
"Not Yvonne!" said Cecil. "If Yvonne had been the old woman who lived in a shoe, she'd have had a different dress to do every whipping in."
"Doesn't she read?" Ben asked.
"She lies on the sofa with a book," said Cecil, "but she's not a reader. She's at heart a mannequin; but she's a darling too," he added hastily. "Don't think I'm not in love with her still. I am. I adore her. But heavens! she's extravagant: I've had to give up polo entirely because of it. She doesn't know it, but I have. I pretended I'd strained my back."
That evening Ben and Yvonne met at Colonel Staveley's.
"But, my dear Ben," said Yvonne, in her pretty broken English, "you would not 'ave me shabbee?"
"That would be impossible," said Ben. "But poor old Cecil isn't rich, you know."