"If you'd do a little of that sort of thing, Clara," he called, "you wouldn't need to have the fat rubbed off you by an expensive masseuse."
"Quite a typical husbandly speech!" said Carrie Smith.
"Do they ever think of anything but exercise and expense?"
Well, the men bathed and dressed and had whisky-and-sodas, and came out patronisingly and joined us at tea on the terrace. But inside of ten minutes they were in a group round the ball news and the financial page of the evening papers, and we were alone again.
Carrie Smith came over and sat down beside me, with her eyes narrowed to a slit.
"I didn't want to hurt your feelings, Clara," she said, "but you see what I mean. They're not interested in us. We manage their houses and bring up their children. That's all."
As Carrie was the only one who had any children, and as they were being reared by a trained nurse and a governess, and the baby yelled like an Apache if Carrie went near him, her air of virtue was rather out of place. However:
"What would you recommend?" I asked wearily. "They're all alike, aren't they?"
"Not all." Her eyes were still narrowed. And at that moment Wallie Smith came over and threw an envelope into her lap.
"It came to the office by mistake," he said grimly. "What made you have your necklace reset when I'm practically bankrupt?"