"I cannot skimp over flowers, Bert, I cannot." Esmé went off to dress.
"What could she skimp over?" Bertie wondered.
Estelle Reynolds came in quietly, smiled good morning, began quite naturally to get the vases ready. "How glorious they are," she said, as she put the long-stemmed forced carnations into slender silver vases. "They must cost a fortune now."
"They do." Bertie was writing to his broker. "They do, Estelle. Everything costs a fortune here just now. But we must come to the humble sweet peas next week, or something of its class. What a housekeeper you would make, Estelle."
"Would I?" She hid the pain in her soft grey eyes, turned suddenly away. One of the foolish women whose joy lies in sacrifice, who find stupid satisfaction in balanced accounts, in saving for the man who works for them, who in some mysterious way stretches the weekly allowance when the children come, and finds only happiness in the giving up to do it. A homely little brown thrush, looking, wondering at a world of gay-plumaged songless birds.
"I." Estelle's eyes were under her control again. She smiled bravely. "I am one of the dowdy people who like to mess in the kitchen and dust, value a pleasure for what it costs ... it's childish."
"The fault of the world's inhabitants is that they are stamping out childishness," he said slowly. "They have forgotten to take joy in blue skies and green fields because it costs them nothing to look at them; they are forgetting how to enjoy themselves except in herds. If we have Irish stew at a shooting lunch it must be spoilt by half a dozen expensive flavourings lest my Lady Sue or Madame Sally should say we are so poor that we can only afford mutton and potatoes and onions. Even the children must have tea at Charbonel's and sweets from Buzzard or Fuller, though possibly a packet of butterscotch or home-made toffee would be much more to their taste...."
Estelle laughed.
"I took the Handelle children out last week," she said. "Their mother asked me to—you remember you took me once there to sing and she's been kind to me—and we went on the top of a 'bus, and had tea at Lyon's, bought flowers at Piccadilly Circus, and oh, they did enjoy themselves, but Lady Eva was quite shocked."
"Oh, Estelle, thank you." Esmé came back, radiant in clinging black, the emeralds shining at her bare throat, a big hat framing her face.