“I am going to talk to Mrs. Milton.” Claudia could not stand the sight of the solitary figure any longer, and she longed to tell her hostess what she thought of the practice of getting artistes to give their services for nothing. Colin Paton had opened her eyes to the injustice. She was filled with shame for the set which she represented, and she gave Mrs. Milton her most cordial smile—it could be very charming—as she sat down beside her.
“Mrs. Rivington tells me that you sing beautifully,” she said. “I am looking forward to hearing you. One so seldom hears music nowadays after dinner. It is usually that tiresome bridge.”
The woman flushed with pleasure; she had a fine skin that coloured easily. They were the first friendly words that had been addressed to her that evening, for she had been taken in to dinner by a deaf old major.
“How nice of you,” she said involuntarily. She had been admiring Claudia all the evening. “I do hope I am in good voice, but my little boy has an attack of bronchitis and I was up with him most of the night. And when you are a little tired——”
Claudia nodded sympathetically. “I know. It takes all the fullness and timbre out of the voice, doesn’t it? Must you nurse your little boy yourself?” She noticed that the singer’s voice was infinitely more refined than that of her hostess, which had an unmistakable Cockney twang.
“Yes, we can’t afford a nurse,” said Mrs. Milton simply. “You see, my husband lost all his money two years ago. That’s why I come out to sing. When we were married I gave it up to please him, but now I want to help keep the house going.” The kind and real interest in Claudia’s eyes warmed her to unwonted loquacity.
“And you have a little boy?”
“I have three children, two boys and a girl. They are such darlings.” Her eyes lit up and the whole face was transformed to something almost beautiful in its brooding motherliness. “The boys are just like my husband, so plucky and good-tempered. Oh! they are worth fighting for. We say that every night when we tip-toe into their room and see they are all right for the night. Children make all the difference, don’t they?”
“I—I suppose they do.” Claudia could visualize the picture of the man and woman, tired and anxious, looking with love and hope at their sleeping children and feeling that they made all the difference. She looked across at the chattering groups scattered about the room, most of the women, like her hostess, childless or having only one child. Scraps of their conversation punctuated Mrs. Milton’s words. “I assure you, Kitty, she lost eighty pounds in two rubbers, and everyone knows she can’t afford it. Who pays her debts? I should like to know, and....” “Her bill, my dear, was outrageous. She charged me twenty-two guineas for that little muslin frock, and then....” “—entirely new method of treating the complexion. No creams, only massage with....”