"Laikely. Ze world is full of meetings," observed Marie. "He was soldier; he has now retire. Oh, Henri, I am happy. Nevair did I have so good a time as with this Madame. You shall come to do her hair for ze Court. You shall be great hairdresser. Allez vite, quick!"
Marie made an appointment, and Henry walked off. But the invisible lines of fate were closing round Esmé. She had taken up one herself when she re-employed Marie, who knew just a little too much.
Scott, dourly respectful, waited for her due.
"Four months, mem, if you please."
"Give it to her, Bertie. I am tired."
"But—I gave you the wages cheque each month, Esmé," Bertie said sharply. "Why did you not pay the woman?"
"I suppose I spent it on something else. Don't fuss over a few pounds. Give it to her and let her go. Tell her not to come to me for recommendations."
Esmé strolled off to give herself over to the deft brown hands, to be powdered, tinted into new beauty, to have her golden hair re-done.
"It is not the money. It is only a few pounds, but it is always the same thing," muttered Bertie to himself as he wrote the cheque, "always."
"Sure to be right, sir?" Scott permitted herself a little veiled insolence.