“Julia doesn’t like my caps, mum.”

“Yes, I do,” said Julia; “all I’m asking, Mrs. Amber, is, when is she going to wear them?”

Marie’s mother came in and sat down and thought.

“Ah,” she said, shaking her head and looking pinched about the lips, “I don’t know.  You modern girls buy all these extraordinary things.  You ape rich women; but you’ll never be able to pay the everlasting cleaners’ bills for those caps.”

“She’ll soon give up wearing them, Mrs. Amber.”

“I’m sure I shan’t,” Marie denied.

“When I was a girl,” said Mrs. Amber, smoothing her lap reminiscently, “I remember I wanted a grand trousseau.  But girls lived at home more in those days; they didn’t go out typing and what not, earning money for themselves.  So I couldn’t buy what I wanted and my dear mother had too much sense to buy it for me.  I had strong, useful things, twelve of everything, and they’ve lasted to this day.  However, Marie thinks differently and she has earned the money to act differently, so let her be happy in her own way while she can.”

“Won’t she be happy when she’s married?” Julia asked, while Marie angrily hid her treasures away in tissue paper.

“I hope so,” said Mrs. Amber; “I’m sure I hope so.  But things are all so different when you’re married.  You girls had better come to tea.”

Julia linked her arm strongly in Marie’s as they followed the elderly woman out.  “Marie, love,” she whispered, “I’m a grouser.  You know I wish you all the luck in the world and more.  You know I do?”

“I have it,” said Marie, smiling.  “And I hope you’ll have it, too, before long.”

On the sitting-room table tea was spread; the room was red in the firelight; and the flat was so high up in the block that the street noises scarcely ascended to it.  The girls sat down on the hearthrug, and Mrs. Amber seated herself before her tea tray and flicked away a tear.

“A week to-day,” she said, “I shall be the loneliest old thing in London.  I shall be all by myself in this flat when Marie’s gone.”

There were five cups and saucers on the tray, and in a moment the door-bell rang, and Marie sprang up to answer it.  “That’s Osborn!” she cried in a flutter.

She returned demurely between two young men, one of them holding her hand captive.

Osborn had brought his friend Desmond Rokeby to talk over details of the great event next week.  He kissed Mrs. Amber on the cheek, and turned to Julia with a certain diffidence.  “Miss Winter,” he said, with a nervous laugh, “I’ve brought Rokeby.  You’ve met him?  Rokeby, Miss Winter’s going to be Marie’s bridesmaid, you know, and you’re going to be mine, so....”

The little joke was received with laughter by Mrs. Amber, Marie and Desmond; Julia only smiled and Rokeby thought, “What a dour young female!  What a cold douche!  What a perishing mistake!”