“I am of no earthly use. I've played all my life, and now I'm paying for it. I ought to.” And she ran over her pitiful accomplishments: “golf, bridge, ride, shoot, swim, sing (a little), dance, tennis, some French—what a sickening list!”
She was glad that day to find Clare Gould waiting for her. As usual, the girl had brought her tribute, this time some early strawberries. Audrey found her in the pantry arranging their leaves in a shallow dish.
“Clare!” she said. “Aren't you working?”
“I've gone on night-turn now.”
The girl's admiration salved her wounded pride in herself. Then she saw, on a table, an envelope with her name on it. Clare's eyes followed hers.
“That's the rest of the money, Mrs. Valentine.”
She colored, but Audrey only smiled at her.
“Fine!” she said. “Are you sure you can spare it?”
“I couldn't rest until it was all paid up. And I'm getting along fine. I make a lot, really.”
“Tell me about the night work.”