MRS. WINDERMERE
she said. "And do you know, child, you have his image at the back of your eyes. I know the type—little loyal person."
"Wilfred likes me to travel," said Esmée feebly. "He finds me rather a tiresome companion when he wants to talk about places, and you see he never has time to take me abroad himself."
"That was a very young marriage," said Mrs. Windermere, leaning forward suddenly.
"Oh. Do you think so?"
"But you're younger now, after four years of it. Warier, greedier, more dynamic. No children!—never to be any children?"
"I don't know."
"So wise and yet so foolish." She sipped delicately the hot chocolate, put the cup down, and once more slipped her hand under her fur. "The Mother-heart," she said, "is here. It grows and grows—stretching hands out, seeking, finding."
"I expect there are a great many outlets," said Esmée, helping herself to another rissole, "even if one never has any children of one's own. But I hope———"
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