Hugh Carteret came just then. An old man, deep lines of sorrow drawn on his face, shrinking visibly from any allusion to his loss, suffering from the grief which finds no relief in words. He was cold before Esmé's gush of greeting, looked at her critically and made scant response to her smiles.
"It was so good of him to come, they were hidden away down here. And oh, they did want to change and get a house farther west."
"Why not then?" Hugh Carteret asked.
"The dreadful rents," Esmé answered. "We can't afford it. And we do want to move. The flat is so stuffy, so small."
"It seems big enough for two," Colonel Carteret answered, looking hard at Esmé. "Of course, if you had children I could understand."
"Oh, we couldn't afford children," she said, flinging a wistful note in her voice. And one not altogether feigned, for as she spoke she remembered the boy who was growing strong in the nursery at Grosvenor Square.
"Mrs Gresham," announced the maid.
"I'd no idea it was a party." Colonel Carteret looked at his black clothes and spoke reproachfully.
"It wasn't. Dollie Gresham was not asked, uncle."
Dollie made it plain in a minute. She knew Esmé was at home; she'd asked the maid and she came along.