"Would money make so much difference to you?" asked Miss Allison curiously.

"I don't know," replied Rosemary. "I think it would. Not having enough of it makes me impossible to live with. I'm not a good manager. I hate everything to do with domesticity. It isn't in my line. I can't help getting into debt, because I see something I know I can't live without another moment—like this bracelet, for instance—and I buy it without thinking, and then I could kill myself for having done it, because I do see how hateful it is of me."

"I suppose," suggested Miss Allison somewhat dryly, "that it doesn't occur to you that you might send the bracelet back?"

"No, because I have to have pretty things. That's the Russian in me. C'est plus fort que moi. To do him justice Clement knows that. He doesn't grudge it me a bit, only it worries him not being able to make both ends meet. Now he says we shall have to move into a smaller house and do with only two maids. It's no use pretending to myself that I don't mind. I know I shouldn't be able to bear it. I feel stifled enough already."

"When are you moving out of Red Lodge?" inquired Miss Allison, with the forlorn hope of leading the conversation into less introspective channels.

"On quarter day, I suppose. I believe the people who've bought it would like to move in sooner, but I don't really know. We don't discuss it."

This magnificent unconcern made Miss Allison blink. She said practically: "But oughtn't you to be looking for another house? It'll be rather awkward if you don't, surely?"

Rosemary shrugged. "What's the use?" she said.

Miss Allison, feeling herself to be unable to cope with the problem, said apologetically that she thought she ought to go back to the drawing room.