"Still, even in war time——"
"Of course I meant new clothes and fashionable things."
"An alluring prospect!" I agreed wistfully. "Fancy reading in the frock-papers that 'Ursula, Mrs. Brown, looked charming in a creation of sacking made Princess fashion, the chic effect being heightened by a bold use of the original trade-mark, which now formed a striking décor for the corsage.'"
Ursula did not smile. "No man can be amusing about clothes except by accident," she said coldly. "The article went on to advise that if new things were bought they should be specially good. It called this the truest economy in the long run."
When Ursula had sketched out a comprehensive wardrobe on truest economy lines, and I had mentally reviewed my pet shades in autumn suitings, there was a pause.
"What about the green-house?" I asked suddenly. "Do we need a fire there all winter just that John may swagger about his chrysanths?"
John, I should explain, is the gardener who jobs for us at seven-and-six weekly, and "chrysanths" is a perfectly beastly word that we have contracted from him. In summer John mows the lawn (fortissimo at 6.30 A.M.) and neglects to weed the strawberries. In winter he attends to what auctioneers would call the "commodious glass."
"M'yes," said Ursula reflectively. "But what about John himself?"
"My dear girl, surely it is obvious by the simplest political science——"
"Sweetheart!" interposed Ursula anxiously, "John isn't going to have anything to do with the Moratorium or hoarding gold, is he? Because, do remember how cross you got trying to explain that!"