"My dear, what had you got?" he asked.
"Oh, a king and ace. I expected something above a ten from you, Bertie."
The Midshires were coming to Aldershot at once. Esmé had never been with the regiment. She did not want to leave London. She coaxed Bertie next day. Why not wait for another adjutancy, leave her in the flat, he could come up so often.
But the very weapons she used turned against her, the caress of her lips, her clinging arms were not things to leave. No, she must come to Aldershot. They would find a house and be happy there.
"And the bills, sweetheart?" Bertie Carteret had always seen to them. "I suppose you paid up all the old ones so we'll start fresh."
Esmé had forgotten her bills. She was irritable over money, cried out that her husband had learnt miser's thoughts in South Africa. "You fell in love with a good housewife there, Bert," she mocked, "who fried the cold potatoes of overnight for breakfast. Come, confess.... We've heaps of money to be foolish on, don't bother."
"There was never a penny left over," he said. "If we were sick, or if, well, anything happened we had no margin." Esmé frowned sullenly.
Two hours later she was rung up at her club.
"Esmé, I've seen Uncle Hugh, he wired for me. He is going to live in London, and he wants to make arrangements. Meet me at once. Where? Oh, the Carlton will do."
Erratically dreaming of riches Esmé left a game of bridge and flew off to the big restaurant. It was crowded for tea-time, people gathering at the little tables. The cold air called for furs. Their rich softness was everywhere, and among them all Esmé felt her coat attracted admiring eyes. Over her black dress, the blue lining brilliant over the dark, with her hair massed against a dead black hat, Esmé was remarkable.