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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Oyster, by A Peer
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Oyster
+
+Author: A Peer
+
+Release Date: February 8, 2011 [EBook #35217]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OYSTER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Andrew Sly, Al Haines and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+The Oyster
+
+
+By
+
+a Peer
+
+
+
+
+London
+
+John Long, Limited
+
+Norris Street, Haymarket
+
+[_All rights reserved_]
+
+
+
+
+_First Published in 1914_
+
+
+
+
+_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
+
+In Two Editions, 6s. and 1s. net.
+
+  Theo
+  The Hard Way
+  The Decoy Duck
+  A Wife Imperative
+  To Justify the Means
+  The Ordeal of Silence
+
+_All Published by_
+
+JOHN LONG, LIMITED, London
+
+
+
+
+The Oyster
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+Gleams of bright sunshine came through the windows of the trim little
+flat into the drawing-room furnished in miniature aping of luxury. The
+chairs and tables were Sheraton--Sheraton passably imitated--the
+covering rich brocade. Soft white cushion covers, fine as cobwebs,
+clothed the big squares stuffed with feathers. Late narcissi and early
+roses made the air heavy with scent. The place was small, but it
+carried the air of comfort; it was a miniature of its roomy brothers
+and sisters in big town houses. The door of the dining-room, standing
+open, showed the same taste. Polished inlaid mahogany, good silver,
+embroidered table linen. Early as it was there had been strawberries
+for breakfast, and cream, and hot bread.
+
+"Luncheon at the Berkeley. It will be a good one too. I'm driving with
+Denise to that show at the Duchess's. Tea at the Carlton. Dining with
+Robbie at his club; the Gay Delight afterwards; supper at Jules. Oh!
+the days are not half long enough."
+
+Long-limbed, slender, gracefully pretty, Esme Carteret turned over the
+leaves of her engagement-book. Her blue eyes sparkled behind dark
+lashes; her skin was fair and carefully looked after. She was so
+bright, so dazzling, that at first sight one missed the selfishness of
+the weak, red-lipped mouth, the shallowness of the blue eyes.
+
+"Not half long enough," she repeated. "Oh, Bertie, you--"
+
+A flashing smile, a hand held out, yet in the greeting no look of the
+real love some women feel for their husbands.
+
+"Well, Butterfly." Bertie Carteret had a bundle of letters in his
+hands; he was opening them methodically with an ivory cutter.
+
+A dark man, with a quiet, strong face. Dazzled, attracted by this fair
+piece of womanhood, loving her as men love when they do not stop to
+look further than the flesh and blood they covet, and so, married. And
+now, loving her still, but with eyes which were no longer blinded, with
+little lines of thought crinkling round his eyes when he looked at her,
+yet still her slave if she ordered him, thrilling to the satin softness
+of her skin, the scented masses of her hair.
+
+"Well, my Butterfly," he said, opening another letter.
+
+Esme did not pay her own bills. She had not as yet sufficient wisdom to
+keep the house accounts. It saved trouble to let Bertie take them.
+
+"Esme child!" He looked at the total written under a long line of
+figures. "Esme! those cushion covers are not made of gold, are they?"
+
+"No--hand embroidery," she said carelessly. "Everyone gets them."
+
+"They seem to represent gold, you extravagant child."
+
+"Dollie Maynard had them; she kind of crowed over mine last day we had
+bridge here. I must have things same as other people, Bert. I can't be
+shabby and dowdy."
+
+"So it seems." He opened several other letters. "Well, we can just do
+it, girlie, so it doesn't matter. Breakfast now. I was working hard
+this morning."
+
+"And I was eating strawberries. Bobbie sent them. There are eggs for
+you."
+
+"Once upon a time laid by a hen," he said resignedly. "Got the stalls
+for to-night. That blue gown suits you, Butterfly."
+
+"It ought to," she said, coming in to give him his breakfast. "It cost
+fifteen guineas."
+
+Bertie Carteret was adjutant of volunteers in London; he had taken it
+to please Esme, who would not endure the idea of a country station in
+Ireland.
+
+Now Carteret was going abroad, his adjutancy over. His battalion was in
+South Africa; he was to join it there until he got something else to
+do. Esme flashed out at the thought of the place.
+
+"Dust and bottled butter; black servants and white ants. No thank you,
+Bertie--I won't go."
+
+No one expected sacrifice from Esme; she was too pretty, too brilliant,
+to endure worry or trouble. Bertie Carteret smiled at her. She should
+stay at home. They would soon get something else to do, and he would
+come back.
+
+Esme bent across to him that day, her face set in unwonted thought.
+
+"Just think if your Uncle Hugh had no sons," she said, "he'd leave you
+everything. We'd be rich then."
+
+Bertie laughed. Two boys made barrier between him and hopes of the
+Carteret money.
+
+A pleasure-loving pair, absolutely happy in their way. Well enough off
+to have all they wanted, and pleasant enough to get the rest from their
+friends.
+
+They chattered through breakfast of engagements, parties, trips, of
+days filled to the brim. Bertie was lunching at the Bath Club. Esme,
+with her friend, Denise Blakeney, at the Carlton.
+
+"And oh, Bert--ring up those fruiterer people. Dollie dines here
+to-morrow. We must have strawberries, and asparagus--the fat kind--and
+peas, Bert. She had them--Dollie. I don't want her to go away and talk
+of 'those poor Carterets and their mutton chops'--and send in matron
+glaces, Bert, and sweets from Buzzard's, will you, and some Petit Fours
+for tea."
+
+"Anything else?" he said. "Esme, do you know, my Butterfly, that we
+spend every penny we have, and a little more?"
+
+With a laugh she slipped a supple arm about his neck. "And why not?"
+she said lightly--"why not, Sir Croaker?"
+
+He drew her to his knee, kissing her firm neck, her soft arms--on fire
+to her touch.
+
+"She was a witch," he told her, "and a Butterfly, hovering over a man's
+heart." She should have her strawberries, her sweeties. "And--what is
+it?"
+
+For Esme had turned white, put her hand to her throat, a sudden nausea
+seizing her.
+
+"I've been like that twice before," she said; "it's the racket. Bertie,
+I don't feel up to luncheon now, and I like to be hungry when I lunch
+with Denise. Oh, thank you, dear."
+
+For he brought smelling-salts, holding the fragrant, pungent, scented
+stuff to her nostrils. He was genuinely anxious.
+
+"It's nothing," she said lightly; "something disagreed with me."
+
+"Lunching with Denise?" He lighted his pipe. Carteret was not a
+cigarette-smoker. "Ever see Blakeney with her now, girlie?"
+
+"No-o," she said reluctantly.
+
+"H'm! I hear they're not too good pals. Denise has been playing the
+fool with young Jerry Roche--the 'wily fish' as they call him. She'd
+better not go too far with Cyril Blakeney. I was at school with
+him--came just when he left. But I knew his brother there also. I tell
+you, Esme, they're a bad lot to vex."
+
+Esme shook her head thoughtfully.
+
+"Hope Jimmie Helmsley won't be at luncheon," Carteret went on. "Steer
+clear of him, old dear."
+
+"I'm lunching with him on Saturday, Bert."
+
+"Well, don't again. He's a beast. Of course there's no fear of you, but
+there was the Grange Stukeley girl, poor soul, married off to a parson
+cousin; and Lettice Greene, and--oh, heaps of his victims."
+
+There are some women who create trust. The dazzle about Esme was not
+one of warmth. It was cold as she was selfish. Her husband, without
+realizing this, yet knew that he might trust her implicitly, that
+beyond mere careless flirtation nothing amused her.
+
+"Well, good-bye, Esme. I must go to do a few things which don't want
+doing, even as this morning I paraded unwilling youths at seven."
+
+Carteret strolled out. Esme picked up the salts bottle, sniffing at it.
+She rang for a trim, superior maid to take away, going back herself to
+the pretty drawing-room to write a few notes.
+
+"I'm feeling rotten," wrote Esme to a girl friend, "slack and seedy--"
+and then she jumped up, crying out aloud.
+
+"Not that! Not that! Not the end of their dual in the treble. Not the
+real cares of life forced on her. Oh, it could not be--it could not!"
+Esme raged round the room, crying hysterically, fighting off an
+imaginary enemy with her hands.
+
+It would mean a move from the little expensive flat. Doctors, nurses,
+extra maids swallowing their income.
+
+"It can't be!" she stormed. "I'm mad!" and rushed off to dress.
+
+She looked hungrily at her slim figure in her glass, watched her maid
+fasten hooks and buttons until the perfectly-cut early summer gown
+seemed to cling to the slender figure. There was that, too--a figure
+spoilt. Dowdy, disfiguring clothes, and fear, the fear of the
+inevitable. She was counting, calculating as the maid finished
+fastening her dress, brought her a cloudy feather wrap, deep brown over
+the creamy gown, long white gloves, a scented handkerchief, a bunch of
+deep pink roses.
+
+"Shall I alter Madame's yellow gown?" Marie wondered at Esme's silence.
+"Madame is weary of its present aspect, with silver and violet. I can
+make it new--and the waist, it seemed a little tight last evening for
+Madame."
+
+"It wasn't," Esme flung out. "It's quite right. Get me new corsets,
+Marie--these are old. A taxi, yes."
+
+Speeding westward swiftly, but with dread flying as swiftly. Not
+that--not the ending of her careless, selfish life.
+
+"Why, Esme, what a pretty gown; but you look pale, dear."
+
+Lady Blakeney was at the Berkeley. A big, soft woman, with a weak,
+pretty face, palpably face-creamed, powdered, tinted, yet the whole
+effect that of a carefully-done picture, harmonizing, never clashing.
+With her brown hair, her deep brown eyes, she was a foil to flashing,
+dazzling Esme.
+
+"Just four, you see," Lady Blakeney sauntered to her table. She was in
+dull rose, exquisitely dressed.
+
+"Yes, Jerry and Jimmie Helmsley."
+
+Lord Gerald Roche, slim, distinctly young, just getting over being
+deeply in love, and still trying to think he was a victim to it, more
+impressive, as if to whip his jaded fancy, came in; a bunch of rare
+mauve orchids, fresh from a florist's, in his hand. Behind him, Jimmie
+Gore Helmsley, a tall man, dark, with satyr's ears, thick, sensual
+lips, and black eyes of cool determination. No one realized Jimmie's
+fascination until they spoke to him. It was in his manner, his power of
+subtle flattery, of making the woman he spoke to feel herself someone
+apart, not of common attraction, but a goddess, an allurement.
+
+Unkind men, unfascinated, called Jimmie's black eyes boiled sloes, and
+swore that he rouged his cheeks; but women raved about him.
+
+Jimmie was a pursuer of many women, a relentless one if his fancy were
+touched; there were girls--girls of his own rank of life--who whispered
+his name bitterly. The plucking of a bird sometimes amused him more
+than the wearing of a full-blown rose.
+
+"Ah you! the sunshine is here now." He bent over Esme's hands, and his
+flattery was as water pattering off polished marble. Esme had no use
+for the Gore Helmsleys of life; she had laughed when he had given her a
+flower as though it were made of diamonds. Jimmie made things as cheap
+for himself as he could.
+
+But Esme talked to him now. Jerry was almost whispering to Denise
+Blakeney, making his adoration foolishly conspicuous.
+
+The restaurant was filling. Denise had ordered luncheon; she never
+trusted to chance. A soufflet of fish, asparagus, grilled fillets of
+beef.
+
+As the fish was handed to them, Denise Blakeney started and flushed
+painfully. Her young admirer had been showing her a jewel flashing in a
+tiny box--a pear-shaped pink pearl.
+
+"Oh!" she cried sharply, and pushed the box away.
+
+A bluff man, with heavy features, had gone up the room and sat down at
+a small table. His companion was an elderly woman, dowdy, rather
+fussily impressed.
+
+"It's Cyrrie!" said Denise. "Cyrrie and his old Aunt Grace. He asked me
+to have her at Grosvenor Square to-day, and I told him a fib to
+escape." Denise fidgeted uneasily, her colour changing. "I told one
+fib," she said, "now it will take a dozen more to make it credible."
+
+"The fib is a mental fly," said Jimmie, laughing; "he's grown large
+quickly. Cheer up, Milady, don't look tragic."
+
+The big man nodded to his wife with a careless smile. It is an
+Englishman's need to be outwardly pleasant, to glaze a volcano with a
+laugh--in public.
+
+"He hasn't scolded me enough lately," said Denise, grimly. "And the
+nature of husbands being to scold, it makes me nervous." She watched
+Cyrrie narrowly.
+
+"Aunt Grace is having boiled chicken, specially ordered for her; she
+will finish up with stewed fruit and rice. It makes it so difficult
+when she comes. My cook is uncertain as to boiling chickens plainly."
+Lady Blakeney tried to fling off her depression, to do her duty as
+hostess. She muttered something sharply to Lord Gerald, she talked a
+little too fast, a little too gaily.
+
+Esme would flash smiles, planning some future gaiety, forget for a
+moment, and then, across her happiness, a cloud rose looming,
+threatening. Oh! it could not be! It must not be! There were so many
+things she meant to do. Bertie's appointment was up; he was going to
+South Africa until they got something else, or his other battalion came
+to Aldershot. Exchanges could always be managed. And Esme was due at
+Trouville in August; she was going on to Scotland; she had been asked
+to Cheshire to hunt for two months. It must not be!
+
+Once, in a spasm of fear, she clenched her hand, crushing her glass in
+her fingers, spilling her champagne. Esme drank champagne on a hot May
+day because it looked well to see it there, because it brightened her
+wits, made pleasure keener. She liked expensive dishes, ordering
+them recklessly when she was asked out, taking the best of everything.
+She was never tired, never knew sleeplessness; could dance until four
+and be out riding next morning, with her bright colour undimmed.
+Perfect health makes perfect temper. Esme was an unruffled companion,
+provided she got her own way. Down in the country, without amusement,
+she would have fretted, beaten against bars of dulness.
+
+"Oh, Mrs Carteret!" she heard Jimmie exclaim as the amber liquid
+vanished, as the broken glass tinkled together on the cloth. "What
+dream moved you?" he whispered, bending close. "What, lady fair?"
+
+A man who could throw meaning into his lightest word, here it was
+implied, had she thought of hidden things; the eyes burning into hers
+expressed that she had thought of him. Though every road in the map of
+love was known to Jimmie Gore Helmsley, he hinted at unknown turns, at
+heights unclimbed to each fresh companion he took by the route, knowing
+how women love mystery and hate the flat, soft paths they can see too
+well.
+
+"Of what?" he whispered. "If I dared to think. It would make Friday--"
+
+"Don't dare," Esme flashed at him mockingly. "And Friday--where do we
+lunch on Friday?" she asked carelessly. "Let it be near Dover Street; I
+must be at the club at half-past two."
+
+Esme looked shrewdly at the man, wondered what women saw in the
+sloe-black eyes, the high-coloured cheeks; wondered why girls had made
+fools of themselves for him.
+
+"I heard of an old friend of yours to-day," she said--"Gracie
+Stukeley--I forget her married name."
+
+Jimmie nodded carelessly; there were no chinks in his armour. He gave
+no thought to a little fool who had come flying to his rooms because
+someone vexed her, who prattled to him of divorce; he was rather fond,
+in a way, of his big, swearing, hard-riding wife. He remembered that
+Grace Stukeley had to be married off to save her people's name.
+
+"Nice girl," he said carelessly; "but a fool."
+
+"Ah, Denise! You did not lunch with Eva? She put you off an hour ago; I
+see."
+
+Big Cyril paused as he passed his wife. Denise made sweetly-drawled
+apology to Aunt Grace.
+
+"I see," said Sir Cyril, his big face set a little grimly; "and now,
+whither away, Denise? To drive--to the cloth show? Well--we meet at
+dinner."
+
+"Yes--to drive;" but first Denise knew that she had meant to go home to
+spend an hour with Jerry in her boudoir. And now she was afraid; she
+faltered and flushed. Would not Aunt Grace drive? Esme could come any
+day.
+
+Aunt Grace, easily flattered, gravely believing the previous
+engagement, accepted willingly.
+
+She quite understood how difficult it was to find time to receive
+visitors from the country. Engagements were sacred. The vicar had never
+forgiven her once because she forgot to go to tea to meet the bishop's
+wife, and the hot buns were overcooked waiting for her. Mrs Lemon made
+a speciality of hot buns. Grace Bullingham chattered on, delighted with
+her luncheon, her day in London; but Sir Cyril stood silent, a curious
+smile on his lips.
+
+"You're coming, Cyrrie? Denise, isn't Cyrrie coming?"
+
+"The electric limousine of the moment has only room for two--and an
+interloper," said Blakeney. "No, I'm not coming, Aunt Grace. I should
+be the interloper. But I'll meet you at four at the station, the car
+can take you there, and--"
+
+Denise was still flustered; still talking nervously. She arranged to
+meet Esme again; she fussed uneasily, afraid that Jerry might be openly
+impressive, that he might try to whisper his regret.
+
+"Now, auntie, come along. Au revoir, Esme. Good-bye, Lord Gerald. See
+you some time next week--to luncheon on Sunday if there's no other
+attraction."
+
+Something fell with a little clatter on the pavement. Sir Cyril stooped
+and picked it up.
+
+"You've dropped this," he said to his wife.
+
+It was a pear-shaped pink pearl set with tiny diamonds, a valuable toy.
+
+Denise took it from him, hesitating.
+
+"A pretty thing," said Blakeney, quietly. "Be more careful of it,
+Denise."
+
+"Sit and smoke a cigarette with me," Esme heard Gore Helmsley's
+caressing voice close to her, "in my club. And look here--I've a lovely
+scheme--listen!"
+
+The scheme was unrolled simply. As Carteret would be away, Esme must
+come to Leicestershire for a few days in the winter. He had a lodge
+there; she could get another girl to come.
+
+"I'll lend you horses," said Jimmie. "You'd sell them for me with your
+riding. Brutally frank, ain't I, but you know I must keep going. Come
+for a month."
+
+Another month's hunting after Christmas; the fun of staying with three
+men. Four or five days a week on perfect mounts. Bridge in the
+evenings; the planning of tea-gowns, the airing of new habits.
+
+She was not afraid of Jimmie, or of any man. Esme did not know the
+lower depths Gore Helmsley was capable of in hours when he mixed with
+the underworld--the great stream which glides beneath London's surface.
+
+"I'd love to," Esme began.
+
+And then again the sudden fear. May--this was May. In January there
+might be no hunting, no enjoyment, nothing but a weary waiting for what
+must be.
+
+"I'll come," she said gaily; "I must have my hunting. Oh! I must!"
+
+Gore Helmsley smiled softly. "And--drop a hint to Denise Blakeney to go
+slow," he said. "Those big men think a lot."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+May made her brilliant, treacherous way across her allotted span of
+days. A thing of sunshine, a lady of bitter winds, she laid her finger
+on London's pulse and felt it throb to life beneath her touch. She saw
+the golden sacrifices made to the gods of the season; money poured out
+as water in the huge city; money spent everywhere; in the crowded
+shops; in stately _salons_, where the great dressmakers created their
+models; on cabs and motors; on fruit and flowers and vegetables out of
+season--since it is ordained that when the gifts of the earth come to
+their ordinary time your entertainer has no use for them.
+
+Strawberries in June are mere berries of no worth; asparagus in May
+becomes a comrade to cabbage. It is only that which costs much money
+which is of value in the eyes of the rich.
+
+Hundreds of pounds on roses to decorate walls for one night; odd
+hundreds on a gown which will never be worn twice; the clerks, the
+poor, look on without envy, merely with admiration, with a glow perhaps
+of pride for the great country which can pour out gold as water.
+
+Esme Carteret, in a soft muslin gown, sat in her pretty drawing-room;
+sat for a moment, jumped up restlessly, trying to escape her thoughts.
+
+Suspicion had become certainty; there was no escape save through folly
+or worse; her easy happiness was at an end.
+
+"Vilette has 'phoned, madame. She wishes to know if you will have your
+gown for Cup day quite tight, with a soft chiffon coat, she says."
+
+"I'll think of it, Marie. No, tell her not to; make it loose, soft."
+
+Marie coughed discreetly. Marie guessed--or knew.
+
+Esme reddened, tore at a pink carnation, pulling its fragrant petals to
+pieces.
+
+In ten minutes her guests would be there; she would have to talk to
+them, to laugh and chatter, and not show her uneasiness.
+
+Dollie Maynard, fluttering in, a slender, bright-eyed woman, brainless
+and yet sharp-witted, weighing men and women by what they could give
+her. Denise Blakeney was coming; they were all going on to Ranelagh.
+Esme's flat was not much out of the way.
+
+Esme's little lunches were perfection in their way; there was sure to
+be some highly-spiced story to be discussed; someone would have
+transgressed or be about to transgress, someone would already have
+given London food for gossip.
+
+"Esme, dear! what lovely flowers!" Dollie's quick eyes appraised the
+roses. "Oh! extravagant Esme!--or is it Esme well beloved, with a
+someone who wastes his income at a florist's."
+
+"In this case--my lawful spouse! He sent them in yesterday." Esme
+omitted to say that she had asked for them.
+
+"You are a model pair, Esme." Dollie sat down; she was a woman who was
+never hardly dressed; chiffons, laces seemed necessary to soften her
+sharp little face. "You've all you want. Oh--Denise!"
+
+Denise Blakeney, looking worried--her soft, weak face was drawn a
+little. Dollie was fluttering softness; Denise Blakeney solid wealth;
+the pearls on her throat were worth a fortune; the diamonds pinned
+about her dress splendid in their flashing purity.
+
+Dollie detested Esme because she did so much on half the Maynards'
+income; she envied Denise deeply.
+
+"It's a mystery how the Carterets manage," Dollie would whisper. "A
+mystery--unless--" and then came the whisper which kills reputation,
+the hint which sets the world talking, in this case generally put aside
+with an "Oh! they've enough, those two, and people are very good to
+her--she's so pretty."
+
+Another time Esme would have been proud of her luncheon; the soles in
+cunning sauce; the soufflet of peas; the cutlets; the savoury--Esme
+prided herself on original savouries. There was hock which was owed to
+bright smiles to a Society wine merchant, who sent it to her at cost
+price.
+
+On other days Esme would have smiled to herself at Dollie Maynard's
+peevish envy, at the praise veiled by pricks of innuendo.
+
+"Esme dear, you might be a millionaire. How delicious this hock is.
+Holbrook keeps it, but it's beyond poor little me; he told me the
+price. But to you perhaps he relents."
+
+Coffee, liqueurs, cigarettes; then Dollie fluttered away, called for by
+friends.
+
+"Shall we go?"--Denise Blakeney strolled to the window--"or shall I
+send the car away? Esme, I'm in bad spirits; it's raining, too!"
+
+"And I am in bad spirits." Esme looked pinched, almost unhealthy. "Yes,
+tell her to come back, Denise--let's talk."
+
+Speech is the safety valve of sorrow; a trouble which can be spoken of
+will not hurt gravely. It did Esme good to fling out her fears--to tell
+of what might--what would be.
+
+"It will upset everything," she moaned. "Scotland--the winter
+hunting--and then the expense afterwards. We were just right together,
+Bertie and I."
+
+Denise listened to the outburst, almost astonished, scarcely
+comprehending; half wistfully--she had no child; they would not have
+worried her. Her empty life might have been so different if they had
+come to her.
+
+"And Bertie," she said, "he hates it, as you do?"
+
+"He would, of course. He doesn't know. He would fuss and
+sentimentalize. Oh! Denise!" Esme began to cry hysterically. "It will
+spoil everything. Something will have to be given up."
+
+Denise looked at her thoughtfully. This sheer selfishness was beyond
+her comprehension.
+
+"Perhaps when I was thirty," sobbed Esme, "or thirty-five, and didn't
+want to fly about."
+
+"And then"--Denise Blakeney lighted another cigarette--"then, my Esme,
+you might pray for the child you want--in vain."
+
+She got up, her weak mouth set slackly, her blue eyes shining.
+
+"Es--I'm in mortal fear--fear of Cyril."
+
+Esme stopped crying to listen.
+
+"He'll divorce me," said Denise, dully. "He's off to Central Africa or
+somewhere now, but I know he means to, and what troubles you is the one
+thing which would save me. He told me once that if his wife had
+children he would never disgrace their mother. He meant it. Cyrrie says
+very little, and he means it all. He's so quiet, Es, so big. I'm
+afraid!"
+
+"But surely," Esme queried, "there's no evidence?"
+
+"Oh! evidence!" Denise shrugged her shoulders. "I've been reckless
+lately, Es--a fool. I've stayed with those Bellew people near Ascot.
+I've been a fool with Jerry; he was such a boy that I was too open;
+being very little harm in it, I judged the opinion of onlookers by my
+own feelings; and Cyrrie's found out. He knows the mad things I've
+done. The boy was so proud of being my belonging--bah! I know! I can
+see Cyrrie look at me with a threat behind his eyes. Think of it, Esme!
+The disgrace! Those vile papers reporting; poor Jerry defending; and
+then the after life. Oh! if one could only see in time. If I had
+stopped to think two years ago--it may be too late now. I've been
+absolutely making love to Cyrrie lately, and he looks at me with such a
+smile on his big face. You see, there's the title--it's as old as the
+world, almost--and all the money; and we have no heir; that vexes
+Cyrrie horribly. He'll get rid of me and marry Anne Bellairs, his
+cousin, a great, healthy, bovine country girl, while I sit in outer
+darkness and gnash my teeth."
+
+"Oh, Denise! Oh! if we could change--" Esme's voice rang so shrilly
+that Lady Blakeney dropped her cigarette and picked it up again from
+the skirt of her rich white dress.
+
+"Esme," she said, "it's burnt a hole in it. Heavens! yes! if we could!"
+She threw away the cigarette. "If we could!"
+
+In her heart she knew she ought to tell Esme not to be foolishly
+hysterical. Talk quietly and soothe her. Instead, with her eyes alight,
+she fed the flame of the fear of loss of fun. Talked of how a baby was
+a nuisance in London, of how much they cost.
+
+"If you could give me yours," she said, "and pretend that it was mine.
+Lord! what a difference it would make for me."
+
+Esme sat staring at her, puzzled.
+
+"Oh! I suppose it's too melodramatic to think of," Denise said, getting
+up. "It's still pouring, and I'm going home. We have people to dinner
+to-night. Cheer up, dear."
+
+She left Esme sitting brooding alone; she had been so happy with her
+husband; there was just enough--enough for amusement, for entertaining
+mildly, for paying visits. Her pretty face won many friends; people
+were kind to so pleasant a guest.
+
+"Oh! I can't afford it! I'd love to go!" and then someone found an
+outsider at ten to one, or a stock which was safe to rise, and someone
+else sent wine at wholesale prices; someone else fruit and flowers.
+They were such a merry pair; they ought to enjoy themselves, was the
+world's verdict.
+
+Esme knew the value of smiles; in shops, in Society they were current
+coinage to her. She did not want to be tied, to have to weary over a
+something more important than she was.
+
+"If we could only change," said Esme, dolefully. "Denise quite sees how
+it will spoil everything."
+
+"Call a taxi, Marie. I'll go to the club to tea."
+
+Denise went to pay some calls, and then to her house in Grosvenor
+Square. The scent of flowers drifted from the hall; she loved to fill
+it with anything sweet. The butler handed her her letters as she
+passed--invitations, notes.
+
+She went into her boudoir at the back of the drawing-room, a nest of
+blue, background for her fair beauty, with flowers everywhere.
+
+Denise shivered; she was a Someone--a well-known hostess in society; a
+personage in her way; she went to dull house-parties, where royalty was
+entertained; and she yawned sorely but yet was glad to go. Where one
+ate simple food and had to smoke in the conservatories, because a very
+great lady was an advocate for simplicity.
+
+"And if--if--" her fears were not unfounded.
+
+Denise knew what it would mean. A few loyal friends writing kindly
+letters before they slipped away from her. Cold, evasive nods from
+people who would not cut her; the delighted, uplifted noses of the
+people she had ignored.
+
+A hole-and-corner marriage somewhere with young Jerry, who was already
+wearying of his chains; a marriage reft of all things which makes
+marriage a joy. Life in some poky place abroad or in the country,
+received on sufferance or not at all.
+
+Denise flung out her hands as if to ward off an enemy. She heard her
+husband coming in; his heavy step on the stairs; his deep, even voice.
+
+"Her ladyship in? Yes? A message from Lord Hugh Landseer; wished Sir
+Cyril to lunch there to-morrow to discuss guns, etc. Yes. Dinner at
+eight or half-past? At eight-fifteen? The champagne? Better have two
+sorts out, Lady St Clare didn't like Bollinger."
+
+There was a cool reserve of strength in Cyril Blakeney's trivial words;
+he thought slowly, spoke slowly, but seldom idly. He was a man who
+could wait. Wait for a day which he believed would be good, wait for a
+young dog which he thought might improve. "Give him a year--we'll see
+then." And if at the end of the time the setter was still hopeless, he
+was not seen again. Cyril Blakeney would not sell a dog to be beaten
+into submission--and the end was swift and painless. A vicious horse, a
+bad jumper, went the same way. People did not dispute his opinions; if
+they could not agree they listened to the arguments and wondered at
+their quiet shrewdness.
+
+Denise heard the heavy step go on; he did not come into her boudoir.
+She went up herself, fidgeting over her dresses, coming down at last in
+shimmering opal satin, a crown of pearls in her soft hair, pearls at
+her throat, and in the lace on her bodice one pear-shaped and pink.
+Stanley, her maid, had fastened it in, picking it out of several jewels.
+
+Denise looked at them and shivered again. Her diamonds were
+magnificent, but they were not hers; they were heirlooms of the
+Blakeneys; she thought of the old house in Yorkshire, big, heavy, solid
+as her husband himself; full of carved panels, of cold, stately rooms;
+a home which Cyril delighted in. She dreaded the keen moorland air, the
+loneliness of the country; but they spent the winter there hunting and
+shooting; and she knew how Cyril longed for a boy to come after him.
+
+"That will do, Stanley. What do you say?--That I told you to remind me
+of new dresses for Stranray Park. Yes. Anything will do for the
+mornings, and tea-gowns are forbidden; but I'll want six evening gowns.
+Oh! Cyrrie!"
+
+Catch of nervousness in her voice; she met her husband on the stairs;
+put out a hand and touched his arm. Quietly he lifted it, held it out,
+and laid it lightly where her wedding ring gleamed behind a blaze of
+diamonds.
+
+"Had a pleasant day?" he asked.
+
+Denise recounted it almost eagerly. The big man listened, held her hand
+still as they came to the drawing-room.
+
+"And you gave up Ranelagh--stayed talking to Esme Carteret." She saw
+him smile finely. "Friends, Denise, to waste an afternoon. I was at
+Ranelagh and missed you. Dollie Maynard told me she left you just
+starting. I wondered where you were. Oh! here is Elsie."
+
+They were a merry little party of four, taking an evening off until it
+was time for one or two balls.
+
+Elsie St Clare, her husband, and a Baron de Reville.
+
+Denise was a charming hostess; she knew how to order a dinner; there
+was no hint of the fluttering wings of trouble as the four talked and
+laughed.
+
+"Stanley would not let me rest in peace to-night," she said, "she
+reminded me of Stranray in October. Cyril will not be there; it will be
+worse than ever. No smoking there after dinner," laughed Denise, "and
+it all seems standing up and taking the weather's temperature with our
+tongues; we are so bored we talk of nothing else. And H.R.H. likes the
+Stranray babies down to breakfast. One of them upset an egg over her
+one day, on purpose; they are outwardly mild, and inwardly demons. And
+when we are not out we work, because it looks domestic. I put three
+stitches in last time, because I saw eyes upon me. I shall never forget
+the day we found the three babies playing when we came in. Jinnie, the
+eldest, gravely smoking paper cigarettes. Just as state entry was made,
+she shrieked out:
+
+"'That's when they're gone to bed; that's what we do. _I_ saw over the
+bannisters. Now you're so loud, Nettie; and you, Tim, you say thank
+goodness.' But H.R.H. was quite nice about it; and only laughed and
+kissed them all.
+
+"'I expect it's what you all do and say,' she said, and kissed Nettie
+again."
+
+"I shall disport myself at Swords," Elsie St Clare laughed. "I couldn't
+stand the strain of behaving perfectly for a week. Prince Wilhelm goes
+to you at White Friars some time, doesn't he?"
+
+"Next spring for the races," said Denise. "But she's a dear, and if you
+give her a chair to sleep in she bothers no one; the only thing which
+worries her is that Wilhelm will play the bridge game.
+
+"'It hass my orphanage ruined,' she told me last time."
+
+After dinner they played bridge. Denise forgot her fears a little,
+though her luck was against her; she could not hold a card.
+
+"How I hate paying you, Cyrrie," she said, laughing, as she took gold
+from her purse.
+
+"Women always hate the day of reckoning." Something in his quiet voice
+made her heart thump. "The game is full of excitement, but it must
+end--and your sex dislikes the ending."
+
+The guests went on to a big dance; the Blakeneys were left alone; they
+were not going out.
+
+Quite quietly Sir Cyril came across to his wife, stood looking at her.
+
+"A lovely gown," he said. "But--do you need new jewels, Denise?"
+
+His fingers, big, strong, deft, fell on the pink pearl, undid the
+fastening.
+
+Denise turned pale, stood stammering, seeking excuse.
+
+"Don't bother," he said smoothly. "I saw the boy give it you. You've
+been foolish there, Denise--foolish. Well, I'm off for months, and when
+I come back--"
+
+"Yes?" she said, dry-lipped, or rather tried to say yes and merely made
+some sound.
+
+"If we had had a child, Denise," he said, his head bent. "They make a
+difference--one makes allowances then."
+
+"If we had--now," she said. "Now, Cyrrie!" her voice rang shrilly.
+
+He laughed. "If we had--you might be thankful," he said. "Come, you
+look tired out. Go to bed."
+
+"I have not been feeling well," she faltered.
+
+If she was to be saved, something must be managed.
+
+Esme was still in her wrapper of silk and lace, when Lady Blakeney came
+to her next day. Came, white and excited, her eyes blazing, her face
+tense. For half an hour Esme sat almost silent, listening to an
+outpouring of plot and plan. The weak, flighty woman developed
+undreamt-of powers of organization.
+
+Esme wanted money, freedom. Oh! it had often been done before. She
+flung out its simplicity. Away in some remote part of the Continent the
+child which was to come should be born as a Blakeney.
+
+What was easier than a change of names?
+
+"See, Esme--I'll give you a thousand a year always. Honour! Think of
+it! Five hundred pounds every six months, and you and Bertie can be
+happy when he comes back. And I--it will save me. We'll go away
+together in the autumn; we are always together. We'll go without maids.
+Oh--do--do!"
+
+Esme flung up her pretty head.
+
+"I'll do it," she said, "but I must have a doctor. I must not die."
+
+"A doctor to attend Lady Blakeney. Why not? Strange servants, a strange
+place, who would know?" Denise remembered everything.
+
+"Yet it is wonderful how people do know," said Esme, shrewdly, half
+afraid now that she had agreed; wondering what might happen. Yet she
+looked round her flat with a little sigh of relief. She could live her
+merry, careless life, live it more easily than before, and she did not
+want a child. She hated children, hated their responsibility.
+
+"Some day," said Esme, "I won't mind; then there can be another."
+
+May had given way to a dismal June. Cold winds and showers swept over
+the world. Flowers were dragged from grates and fires put in. Esme had
+lighted hers; sat over it, as her husband came in; they were lunching
+out.
+
+He hung over her, delighting in her soft beauty, crying out at her pale
+cheeks.
+
+"You're tired, girlie; we're always out. And now that I must leave you
+alone you'll do much more."
+
+She leant back against him, ruffling her cloud of fair hair.
+
+"We're absolutely happy, aren't we, Bertie? I'll be here when you come.
+I can let the flat until the spring, and you must leave that stupid
+army and live here all summer in dear London."
+
+He held her close, sat silent for a time.
+
+"I was at Evie's yesterday," he said. "Eve Gresham's my cousin. I saw
+her boy."
+
+"Horrid little things at that age," said Esme, unsympathetically.
+
+"It wasn't--it was fat and bonny; and Eve is so proud of it. If we had
+a sonny, Butterfly, you and I, I'd like him to be like Eve's."
+
+Esme sat astonished. Bertie wishing for a third in their lives. Bertie!
+knowing the difference it would make.
+
+She jumped up, almost angrily. "If we had, we couldn't hunt, or do half
+what we do," she said. "And you've got me, Bertie. Do you want more?"
+
+She began to cry suddenly, broke down, overwrought by her morning's
+plot, by this new idea of Carteret's.
+
+Something, stronger for the moment than her selfish love of amusement,
+fought with her. If she gave up their mad scheme, told him now, he
+would not go to Africa; he would stay, watching her, guarding her. Esme
+wavered.
+
+"I looked at those emeralds too, yesterday," Bertie said; he was
+staring into the fire; had not noticed her agitation. "You know that
+queer old clasp. Fifty pounds. I couldn't manage it, girlie, for you."
+
+"I wanted it," said Esme, fretfully.
+
+"A note from Lady Blakeney, madame."
+
+Marie brought the letter up, wondering at its plump softness, feeling
+the wad which the notes made. The chauffeur had bidden her be careful;
+refused to give it to the porter of the flats.
+
+"Oh!" Esme opened it, her back to her husband. There were bank notes,
+crisp, delightful; she saw five of them; five for fifty pounds each.
+Denise was beginning the payment already.
+
+"Milady Blakeney also wishes to know if Madame will use the car to
+drive to luncheon. It is at Madame's service until five," Marie said.
+
+"Denise is very good to you," Carteret turned round. "You have a lot of
+friends, my Butterfly."
+
+Esme crushed the notes up. The impulse to tell was gone. She wanted
+money, comfort, ease; the chance was hers, and she would take it.
+
+The luncheon party was a big one, given by Luke Holbrook, the wine
+merchant. He paid his cook a clerk's income, and she earned her salary
+elaborately. What her dishes lacked in taste they made up for in
+ornament; if a white sauce be merely smoothly flour-like, who shall
+grumble if it is flecked with truffles, cocks-combs and pistachio nuts.
+No gourmet enjoyed eating at the Holbrooks', but ordinary people who
+are impressed by magnificence talked in hushed tones of the cook.
+
+The house was as heavily expensive as the meal; gold plate shone on the
+vast sideboard; orchids decorated the tables; one's feet sank into deep
+carpeting. Mrs Holbrook, a plumply foolish little woman who had married
+the big man obediently that he might have a wife who claimed the prefix
+of "honourable" on her letters, accepted the magnificence placidly. She
+had a shrewd idea that outward show helped the business, and that they
+were not as rich as they seemed to be.
+
+The dining-room had been opened into the study so that it ran right
+across the house, and to increase the apparent size at the end wall was
+a huge mirror reflecting the room.
+
+They lunched at small tables. Sylvia Holbrook knew how to divide her
+guests. Esme found herself one of four with Jimmie Gore Helmsley, Sybil
+Chauntsey, a soft-hued debutante, and a dark young soldier vividly in
+love with the girl.
+
+"Going to the Bellews? Lord! I'm weary of cream pies done up in
+colours." Jimmie waved a sweet away. "Going, Mrs Carteret?"
+
+"Bertie has to go home." Esme had eaten nothing; she was feeling sick
+and tired. "He doesn't like my going there."
+
+"To Thames Cottage? Oh, how I'd love to go," Sybil Chauntsey broke in.
+"They have such fun there."
+
+Her peach bloom deepened; the beauty of youth, which is as no other
+beauty, sparkled in her deep grey eyes.
+
+The big dark man looked at her, his own eyes taking fire. These men
+delight in rosebuds, find an unflagging zest in seeing the tender
+petals unfold to their hot admiration.
+
+"Easily managed," he said. "If Madame the mother permits."
+
+Captain Knox, a mere no one, son of a hunting Irishman, flushed.
+
+"It's not a nice house," he said. "I've heard of it. Don't go, Miss
+Chauntsey."
+
+"Lila Navotsky will be there"--Jimmie turned to the girl, carelessly
+ignoring the man--"she'll dance. It will be rather a bright party.
+Prince Fritz of Grosse Holbein is going, Lady Deverelle, and Loftus
+Laking, the actor. We'll have a moonlight dance, all costumes home
+made."
+
+Fresh from the country, doing her first season, the great names dazzled
+the child. Mother's friends were so dull; the peach-bloom flush
+deepened, the sweet eyes flashed for Jimmie, who had watched so many
+flushes, seen so many bright eyes flash into his. Sybil was very
+pretty, soft and fresh as fruit just ripe; sun-kissed, unpowdered,
+roundly contoured.
+
+With a smile Esme saw that the conqueror's glances were no longer for
+her. He was growing fascinated by Sybil. Even the best of women hate to
+lose an admirer; no one knew better than Gore Helmsley how they will
+suddenly put good resolves aside to keep the slipping fancy. How many
+are morally lost because they fear to lose.
+
+Young Knox turned to talk to Esme, his handsome face troubled. A mere
+ordinary young fellow, capable of ordinary love, cleanly bred, cleanly
+minded, with nothing to offer the girl but the life of a marching
+soldier's wife, and some day a house on the shores of a lake far away
+in the west.
+
+"It's--it's _very_ rowdy, isn't it?" he asked.
+
+But Esme was not thinking of him.
+
+"Oh, sometimes not," she said absently, eating a forced nectarine;
+"depends on the party there. Now they're moving."
+
+Up to a drawing-room of oppressive luxury; the Staffordshire groups,
+the Dresden shepherdesses seemed larger than other people's; the
+brocades gleamed in their richness, the flowers stood in Venetian
+glasses; the whole room seemed to shake its wealth in your face, and to
+glitter and shine with colour. Coffee came in Dresden cups set in gold
+holders; sugar candy peeped from a gilt basin studded with dull stones.
+The cigarettes had their name blazoned over them in diamonds.
+
+Luke Holbrook came among his guests, big, kind, frankly vulgar,
+redeemed by his good-natured eyes. Openly proud of seeing a Duchess in
+his drawing-room, pointing out to her a pair of historical figures
+which stood on the mantel-shelf.
+
+"Wonderful they tell me," he said. "I don't know, but I like size when
+I buy."
+
+"Yes," said the Duchess, blandly, looking round the room. "Yes. If you
+must pay thousands better pay them for two feet of glaze and colour
+than for two inches, no doubt."
+
+"That's it," he said gaily, "that's it. Of course, you've such heaps of
+the stuff at Blenkalle. But my boy's collection has to be gathered now."
+
+Holbrook's pure wines gained many orders in his own house. He had
+stored away, kept for customers with palates, a few casks of port which
+was not branded and flavoured for the English taste, some good hock and
+claret. But the pure wines he made his millions off did not deserve
+their title.
+
+Esme, sipping Turkish coffee, saw Sybil Chauntsey come hurrying to her
+mother. The girl was fresh and sweet, heads turned as she passed.
+
+"Oh, Mumsie, Captain Gore Helmsley has telephoned. Oh, Mumsie, they've
+asked me to the Bellews for Saturday to Monday. Oh, may I go?"
+
+"But alone, Sybil," said her mother.
+
+"Mrs Carteret will take me. I'll ask her. Oh, Mumsie. Prince Fritz of
+Grosse Holbein will be there, and Madame Navotsky, Lord Ralph Crellton,
+Lady Deverelle. Mumsie, I might be asked to Deverelle if I meet her."
+
+Princes, countesses, dancers. Might not Sybil attract the attention of
+Lord Ralph, who would one day be a Marquis. "But, aren't there
+stories?" Mrs Chauntsey wavered.
+
+Jimmie strolled across. "Mrs Bellew is so anxious for your daughter to
+go to her," he said. "It's rather an honour, they are generally full
+up, and there's a dance this time."
+
+He omitted to remark that his reply down the telephone had been: "Who?
+I don't know the brat. Oh, send her along; I'll invite. Suppose you'd
+sulk and wouldn't manage the cotillon if I refused. Can't you let girls
+alone, Jimmie? Yes, I've got the address--I'll invite--bother her!"
+
+Mrs Chauntsey wavered, gave way, turned to a stout lady who was
+anxiously waiting for the brougham she still clung to, and told her.
+
+"I wouldn't let my girls walk past the garden wall," said Lady
+Adderley, grimly. "Sybil's a child, too."
+
+Mrs Chauntsey grew doubtful again. This stout and dowdy woman held the
+keys of the dullest and most exclusive houses. And Sybil had once been
+asked to luncheon there on Sunday; but a Prince, and a future
+Marquis--one must give a girl her chance.
+
+Esme was going on to a tea-party. She sat down by the open window,
+looking out at the Park, a dull place now, its afternoon hour not yet
+upon it.
+
+"Rather full here." Jimmie Gore Helmsley's dark face appeared close to
+her; he pulled up a chair and sat down. "Feel as if we're all Aunt
+Sallies being pelted with gold; the riches jump out and hit you in the
+face."
+
+"He's kind," said Esme, remembering her hock.
+
+"Kind? Oh, yes! he can be! Appreciate," he muttered, "what I've done
+coming here--to meet you, eh? I've talked to Lady Susan and Lady Hebe
+Ploddy for ten minutes, and I've only just escaped from the horns of
+Lady Hebe's jersey cattle. They have been going out for ten years,"
+said Jimmie, "and Mamma, her grace, still calls them 'my baby girls.'
+They are coming this way," he added, "with the pigs and cows in the
+leash of their minds. Are you off it--hipped?" he whispered softly,
+"you look pale."
+
+Whispers had gained him many things in life; a sudden drop of voice, a
+change of tone, an intimacy as it were of sympathy. But Esme scarcely
+noticed it. She was too carelessly selfish to dream of the
+inconveniences of a lover, even if she had not been fond of Bertie.
+
+"Coming Saturday," he asked, "to the Bungalow?"
+
+"Oh, I suppose so. I've promised that child. Where am I going to? To
+buy a toy which has taken my fancy. Yes, you may come with me."
+
+Half an hour later one of the new crisp notes had gone for the emerald
+clasp, and the Ladies Susan and Hebe Ploddy, coming by chance into the
+shop, told all their friends that Captain Gore Helmsley had given it to
+that Mrs Carteret.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Esme Carteret had chosen her own picture in the _tableaux vivants_ at
+the Leigh-Dilneys. It was called Joy.
+
+"I'm so happy," she had said merrily, "it will suit me."
+
+The Leigh-Dilneys gave entertainments in the name of charity, and since
+charity is all-powerful, and the pheasants at Leigh Grange were as
+flies in summer, everyone who was anyone in London gasped for air in
+the big drawing-room.
+
+Faint breaths of summer breeze eddying over scarlet geraniums and white
+marguerites were powerless to stir the heat generated by the crowd
+which packed itself in resignation on hired chairs and dreamt of
+getting away. Lady Delilah Leigh-Dilney looked as though she spent life
+trying to live down her name. A high-nosed, earnest woman, with an
+insatiable appetite for organized entertainment. Her bridge winnings
+went to support missions in distant China; an invitation to tea was
+certain to plunge the accepter into the dusty uncertainty of a bran pie
+at five shillings a dip, proceeds for something; or the obligatory
+buying of tickets for a vase or cushion which was too ugly ever to be
+used.
+
+Electric fans, Lady Delilah said, were noisy, useless and merely
+fashionable. Her guests sweltered on hard chairs as an overheated stage
+manager scrabbled the blue curtains of the miniature stage to and fro
+and wished he had never seen a tableaux.
+
+And Esme was Joy. Merely herself, dressed in a cloud of rosy pink, her
+setting an ordinary room; her hands outstretched to, as it were, meet
+Life; her radiant face lighted by smiles; her burnished hair fluffed
+out softly.
+
+"Yet not so much Joy as self-satisfaction," murmured a panting cynic as
+he finished applauding. "For true Joy is a simple thing--its smile of
+the eyes and not of the teeth."
+
+Esme had chosen the scene because she was really so happy. She seemed
+to have everything she wanted. Popular, young, helped by a dozen kindly
+friends, with Bertie as lover and husband satisfying every whim.
+
+The audience fled from sandwiches and thin coffee to amuse themselves
+after self-sacrifice. Esme, in her pink gown, had danced the night away
+at two balls.
+
+She had not felt ill again; she put her secret fear away, hoping
+eagerly that she was mistaken. Went out next morning to shop. Was there
+not always something one wanted?
+
+Joy! She had acted her part yesterday, flashed her dazzling smile at
+the world. To-day discontent walked with her on the hot pavement.
+
+She had been contented, happy, in her little flat, childishly pleased
+with her new life, her pretty clothes, her gaieties. And now she wanted
+more. Electric motors glided by, silent, powerful; wealth which would
+not have missed the Carterets' yearly income for a day passed her on
+all sides.
+
+A fat woman got out of a car; the Pekingese dog she carried had cost
+two hundred pounds.
+
+"Oh! Mrs Carteret!" Mrs Holbrook held out a fat hand. "Hot, isn't it?
+I'm just going in to Benhusan's here. This necklace Luke gave me
+yesterday has a bad clasp. So dangerous! I want a pendant for it too.
+Come in and advise me--_do_!"
+
+Into the shop with its sombre splendour. Background to pearl and ruby,
+to diamond and opal and sapphire and emerald.
+
+These spread before this merchant's wife, dazzling toys of pink and
+blue and sparkling white.
+
+Esme wanted them. Mere youth ceased to content her. She could not buy
+even one of these things. She must look and long.
+
+"This one is two hundred guineas, madam."
+
+"Oh! Luke said I might go to that. Mrs Carteret, do advise me. This
+pearl, the pear shaped; or the circle of opals--or what do you think of
+the sapphires? I am so stupid."
+
+Sapphires would not go with the pearl and diamond necklace. Esme's slim
+fingers picked up the pearl pendant, held it longingly.
+
+It was the only possible thing, and even then not quite right, but it
+would do, she said.
+
+"You've such perfect taste, child. Luke always says so. So _glad_ I met
+you. Well, see you soon again--to-morrow. We've a large party."
+
+Men and women buying lovely--perhaps unneeded--jewels, spending
+hundreds, thousands, that they might see someone turn to look at their
+adornments. A millionaire American grumbled over the merits of pearls
+spread on purple velvet.
+
+He wanted something extra. "Get these anywhere. Mrs Cyrus J. Markly was
+going to Court. He'd promised she should have a string to knock
+creation. No, these wouldn't do."
+
+Hurried calling on heads of departments, rooting into hidden safes.
+Fresh glistening treasures laid out.
+
+Mr Markly might trust Benhusan's. The rope with its diamond links and
+clasps should be magnificent. He might leave it in their hands. They
+would ransack London for perfect pearls.
+
+With a little gasp of impatience Esme Carteret went out.
+
+She wanted money. Mere comfort was nothing to her to-day.
+
+Furs are neglected in summer, but Esme strolled into the great Bond
+Street store. She was sending a coat for alteration and storage.
+
+Denise Blakeney was there, a stole of black fox spread before her.
+
+"Summer prices, my lady. See, a rare bargain."
+
+"And out of fashion by September or October; but it _is_ good." Denise
+held up the soft fur. "Oh! you, Esme! See, shall I have it? These
+things are always useful."
+
+Esme stroked the supple softness of the furs, held the wrap longingly.
+
+"Twenty pounds off our winter prices, madam. And perfection. Skins such
+as one seldom sees. The price a mere bagatelle--seventy guineas."
+
+"Oh! put it with my other things then. Store it. Are you
+bargain-hunting, Es?"
+
+"No--_I_ have no money." Esme looked almost sullenly at the stole which
+Denise did not want and bought so carelessly. "No, I cannot
+bargain-hunt. I came to see about my one coat."
+
+"What is it, my Joy? You are out of spirits to-day. You looked so
+lovely yesterday, dear."
+
+Lady Blakeney touched Esme's arm affectionately.
+
+"Tired of genteel poverty, Denise. I paddle on the edge of the world's
+sea, where you people swim. Yes--we'll meet at the Holbrooks' lunch.
+Will their new gold plate have diamond crests on it? Good-bye."
+
+Left alone again in the fur shop, envying, longing for the treasures
+there.
+
+Out into the crowded streets. A flower-shop caught her eyes. One sheaf
+of roses and orchids, pale cream and scarlet and mauve, made her stop
+and long. Denise could take these home if she wanted them.
+
+Esme went in, paid five shillings for a spray of carnations.
+
+"Those orchids and roses? Oh! they were ten guineas. Mr Benhusan had
+just bought them for his table that evening."
+
+So on again with this new discontent hurting her. She went on to
+another shop; saw a painted, loud-voiced girl buying silk lingerie,
+taking models carelessly, without thought of price. Her dog, a
+pathetic-looking white poodle, had on a gold collar set with jewels.
+The girl struck him once, roughly, across the nose, making him howl.
+
+"Straighten him up," she said carelessly. "There, that's all. You know
+the address. Enter the lot; send 'em with the other things."
+
+Esme knew the girl by sight; had seen her dancing at the Olympic. She
+knew, too, who would pay for those cobwebby things of silk and real
+lace.
+
+The spirit of discontent held Esme Carteret with his cruel claws,
+rending her, hurting her mentally.
+
+She was Joy no longer. Her little flat, her merry, careless life, could
+not content her.
+
+Her mood led her to her dressmaker's to look at model gowns, and on to
+Jay's and Fenwick's. Discontent urging her to look at rich things which
+she could not buy; the blended beauty of Venetian glass, jewels, laces,
+silks, all seemed to come before her with a new meaning.
+
+And then the sudden fear; stopping as if a blow had been struck at her.
+She was not safe; hope was not realization. The flat and the life she
+grumbled at might--would--pass to something smaller. To a house in a
+cheaper district, to money spent on cabs and dinners going to keep the
+child she dreaded.
+
+Esme hurried on, faster and faster, as if she would escape the fears
+which followed her. She wheeled, panting, into Oxford Street; turned
+from its crush and flurry, and went again down Bond Street, her colour
+high as she raced on.
+
+"Dear lady, is it a walking race or a wager?" Esme cannoned into Gore
+Helmsley. He stopped her, holding her hand impressively.
+
+A handsome man, if sloe-black eyes and high colour constituted good
+looks. Women admired him. Men shrugged their shoulders impatiently.
+
+"Neither. I was running away from my own thoughts."
+
+"Ah!" He drew a soft breath. When women hurried to escape their
+thoughts Gore Helmsley thought he could guess at the meaning.
+
+"I feel lost to-day." Esme was glad to find a friend to speak to.
+"Poor, an outcast amid the wealth of London."
+
+"Joy," he said caressingly, "looked yesterday as though the world
+denied her nothing."
+
+"A week ago she would have said so. To-day--" Esme frowned.
+
+The dark man used his own dictionary. He had grown to admire this
+dazzling woman. Discontent on married lips generally meant the fruit
+grew weary of its tree and would come lightly to the hand stretched to
+pick it.
+
+"Lunch with me," he said. "I can break a dull engagement. To-morrow we
+shall endeavour to assail eight courses at the Holbrooks. To-day we
+might try the Berkeley, or the Carlton, or the Ritz."
+
+Esme had promised to meet Bertie at his club; the club was dull; she
+wanted to play at being rich to-day, to look enviously at the people
+who spent money.
+
+"The Ritz," she said. "If you'll tempt me with quails and asparagus.
+And if you can get a table."
+
+Jimmie was not given to extravagance, but this was worth it.
+
+They strolled across seething Piccadilly, with its riot of noise and
+traffic; they went into the big hotel.
+
+An ordered luncheon takes time. They sat in the hall waiting, watching
+the tide of wealth sweep in. The glass doors swung and flashed as
+motors and taxis brought the luncheon-goers to their destination.
+
+Jimmie knew everyone.
+
+"Coraline de Vine." He nodded at the girl whom Esme had seen buying.
+"And Trent. He says he does not know what his income is. People say he
+may marry her--he's infatuated. Did you see her new car? It cost two
+thousand. I saw him buying it for her. That emerald she's wearing is
+the celebrated Cenci stone. He got it at Christie's for her last
+week--outbid everyone."
+
+Thousands--thousands. Esme's eyes glittered hungrily. She opened her
+pretty mouth as if she were thirsty for all this gold, as if she would
+bathe herself in it, drink it if she could.
+
+"And see Lord Ellis and the bride. She was no one--his parson's
+daughter. She has probably spent more on that frock than papa has for
+half a year's income."
+
+A big, rather cunning-looking girl, healthy and young.
+
+"Mamma wanted to send the two children up to me this week," she said,
+as she paused near Esme. "I said it was absurd, in the season. They can
+slip up in July before we shut up the house. Doris wants to see a
+dentist, mamma says; they _are_ so expensive up here. I have
+discouraged her; the man at home is much cheaper."
+
+Already anxious to keep her prize money to herself. Not to share it
+with her sisters. Later, when they grew up, she would give them a
+chance, not now. Already a _grande dame_, spending only where it
+pleased her.
+
+Wealth everywhere, and with Esme this new discontent.
+
+The table next to theirs was half smothered in orchids. The American
+millionaire was giving a luncheon party. A duchess honoured him, a
+slender, dark little lady, shrugging mental shoulders at the
+ostentation. Lady Lila Gore, heavily beautiful, was one of the party.
+The sallow master of millions devoured her with his shrewd, sunken
+eyes. This splendid pink-and-white piece of true English beauty made
+his own thin, vivacious wife nothing to him.
+
+He had bought Mrs Markly a rope of pearls that she might shine at the
+Court, but he was prepared to pay ten times their price for a smile
+from the big blonde Englishwoman, who knew it, and considered the
+question.
+
+The quails were tasteless to Esme. She could not eat. The fear returned
+as she felt a distaste for her food, as she refused the ice which she
+had specially ordered.
+
+She grew restless, tired of Jimmie Helmsley's caressing manner, of the
+undercurrent of meaning in his voice.
+
+"I shall see you to-morrow at Luke's," he said. "You are looking pale,
+fair lady. What is it? Can I help? You know I'd do anything for you."
+
+"I've not been well," she said irritably. "We're so far out. The flat's
+so poky and stuffy. Oh! I shall be all right in a day or two."
+
+She would be. Hope spread his wings again.
+
+She telephoned to Bertie and met him for tea.
+
+For a few hours she was content again. The flat looked its prettiest.
+Her flowers were lovely. Denise Blakeney had sent her a sheaf of roses;
+their fragrance filled the air. Marie had put them in the vases.
+
+Esme tried to love it all, to realize that in her way she wanted
+nothing. She had been so happy with Bertie in their careless life.
+
+She sat on the arm of his chair. He was allowed one big one in the
+flat. She laughed as he did accounts.
+
+"Butterfly, we spend every penny we have got, and a little more
+besides." He looked up into her radiant face. "We seem--we seem to buy
+a lot of things, Es."
+
+"Not half as many things as we ought to." She put her cheek to his. "We
+want _all_ new chair coverings, Bert, and I got the old ones cleaned."
+
+"Oh! model of economy," he said gravely.
+
+"And I bought a new hat instead. I should have to have got the hat in
+any case, you see. And if I do spend a little, am I not worth it, boy?"
+
+With the fragrance of her hair so close to him, with her soft cheek
+against his own, could he say or think so? He was losing time up there,
+rusting when he ought to have been with his regiment, all for Esme's
+sake, because she loved London. But if it made her happy it was enough.
+
+He told her so, holding her closely. Told her how everyone loved her;
+poured out the flattery she was never tired of.
+
+"We can't do anything for these people; they are content to see you.
+Your face is repayment," he said. "No one would bother about me without
+you, sweetheart. You were born for society."
+
+"Yes." Esme's voice grew strained. If Fate had sent her Arthur Ellis
+and his coal mines! How she would have loved to act hostess in the big
+town house, in Ellis Court, and Dungredy Lodge; she put the thought
+away, almost angrily, for she loved Bertie.
+
+Yet, clinging to him, his arms about her, his lips on hers, she missed
+something. Was she growing older that kisses failed to thrill?
+
+"I am so tired, Bertie," she said suddenly. "I have not been well all
+day."
+
+Fear and discontent swept love aside. In a moment she was querulous,
+irritable, all the evening's happiness gone again.
+
+It was time to dress. People were coming to dine; there would be new
+salad; iced rice cunningly flavoured. But the thought of food made Esme
+wretched.
+
+"I _want_ to be happy. Why cannot the Fates let me be?" she almost
+whimpered to her glass.
+
+Brilliantly pretty, slim, young, she wanted to lose nothing.
+
+"If I were happy again I would not fret for all the impossible things
+as I did to-day," she said aloud, with the idea--too common with
+humanity--that one may strike a bargain with Fate.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Once a mere cottage, now a long ornate bungalow jutting into angles,
+full of unexpected rooms, the Bellews' river-side house is more
+luxurious than many big structures of brick and mortar.
+
+"We run down to picnic here," but Belle Bellew knew that picnicking
+without everything out of season, and a _chef_ of quality, could not
+appeal to the people she gathered about her. The picnic element was
+kept up by breakfast-tables laid under trees, things deserted and
+unused--man likes his breakfast free from fly and midge. The ideal,
+talked of in the gleam of electric light, is fresh air, the plash of
+old Father Thames, morning sunshine; the real is that we prefer
+tempered light, copper heaters, and a roof.
+
+The long low house jutted out in two wings, all the windows opening
+onto a covered veranda.
+
+Dull people turned their heads aside when they rowed past on Sunday
+evenings, for the flash of lights, the sound of raised voices, could be
+seen and heard from the river.
+
+The chairs were wicker, but the rugs on the stained floors Persian. It
+was wealth, less ostentatious than the Holbrooks'; light, frothy,
+merry, careless wealth, with pleasure for its high priest.
+
+Jimmie Gore Helmsley motored Denise and Sybil down; the place seemed
+empty when they came, but looking closer one could see groups here and
+there, see flutter of light dresses; hear tinkle of light laughter,
+bass of man's deeper note.
+
+A thin, svelte woman, green-eyed, ferret-faced, came out of the open
+door. Mousie Cavendish said she found her ugliness more powerful than
+other women's beauty. A bitter-tongued little creature, stirring every
+surface maliciously to point out something foul below it. But clever,
+moderately rich, perfectly gowned; gaining what income she lacked
+through her too keen power of observation.
+
+You sat with her, sweetly pulling some reputation to pieces; you left
+full-fed with evil spice; and then you shivered. Were not the same thin
+fingers pulling out your secrets now, those secrets you foolishly
+hinted at?
+
+"Ah! pretty Esme!" Mousie blew a kiss from her reddened lips. "You
+here! Where's Mrs Bellew, Miss Chauntsey? We may see her at
+dinner-time; we may not, if she has taken a tea-basket to the backwater
+close by." Mousie laughed at Sybil. "Does your young mind run upon
+hostesses who wait to receive their guests? You will not find them
+here, my child. Tell the men to get tea, Jimmie; we'll have it here."
+
+The veranda was a series of outdoor rooms, wooden partitions,
+rose-grown, dividing it.
+
+Sybil's grey eyes were sparkling; this was so different from tea in
+decorous drawing-rooms, from a stately week-end spent at Ascot with her
+mother.
+
+"Tea?" Mousie turned to the footman. "Cream sandwiches and fruit. This
+riverside hotel," said Mrs Cavendish, "is an excellent one. Why, fair
+Esme, you look pallid. And what pretty emeralds, cherie. Oh! the
+rewards of beauty!"
+
+The keen little eyes were frankly malicious, frankly open as to what
+they meant.
+
+Esme flushed a little; she saw the green eyes flash on at Gore
+Helmsley. Esme was almost crudely virtuous; the hint offended.
+
+Servants were preparing the lawn for the night's revel. Temporary
+lights were being hung on strings, the turf swept and rolled; a great
+mirror was set up.
+
+"For the cotillon?" Esme asked.
+
+"For the cotillon. We begin at nine. So that at twelve the cock shall
+crow and we shall all--not go to bed."
+
+"More people coming. Mrs Bellew," said Sybil, "was not out; she is
+coming into the garden now."
+
+"Ah! tiens, my child! it was my kindness to say that she was out,
+knowing it was the hour of electricity. Once the knell of forty sounds
+we must have our faces recharged daily. The Prince is coming--look ye!"
+
+Prince Fritz--young, fat, extremely volatile, a thorn in the side of
+his august mother and his wife--came tripping across the grass. He
+talked English with a strong accent, and he bemoaned the future when he
+must go home.
+
+Yet, though Belle Bellew might box his ears later in a romp, she must
+bob to him now discreetly as she greeted him.
+
+Prince Fritz boomed out content and delight. "There is no place such as
+this river house," he said, "none, fair lady." Then he looked round for
+the dancer, who was his special attraction.
+
+"Don't be alarmed, sir--she arrives," mocked Mousie from her balcony,
+"she arrives. The revenues can continue to be squandered, and a nice
+little woman's heart torn by the snapshots she sees of you in the
+picture papers."
+
+Prince Fritz grinned equably; he was not dignified.
+
+"Like to see the river?" Gore Helmsley asked Sybil.
+
+The girl was charming in her simple dress. Fresh and sweet and
+unspoiled, eagerly delighted with everything.
+
+But down by gliding, stately Thames, Jimmie was fatherly. She must be
+careful here, keep quiet; a good deal of romping went on--and girls
+could not behave as married women could.
+
+"I'm your godfather here, you see." His dark face came close to hers,
+showing the crinkles round his eyes, the hard lines near his mouth; but
+he was at the age girls delight to worship. Someone who knows the
+mysteries they only dream of; someone so different to honest, pleasant
+boys, who thought more of sport than their companions.
+
+Friendship! It was Jimmie Gore Helmsley's deadly weapon; there was
+nothing to frighten the maid--he was only a pal--a pal to win her
+confidences, to tell her how sweet she looked, to point out the perfect
+smoothness of her fresh young skin, to find beauty in the lights in her
+hair, the curves of her dimpled neck; to take her about discreetly in
+town, to walk and talk with her at country houses; to listen, with a
+face set a little wistfully, about some boy who adored her. Frank or
+Tom was a good sort, a brick; youth went to youth; heaven send she
+would be happy, and--appreciated--that the blind boy would see plainly
+the perfection of the treasure he was winning. Ah! if someone who could
+see could win it!
+
+After this, next day, meeting her young lover, mademoiselle the
+debutante would fret and sulk because Frank or Tom talked of his last
+score at cricket, or his great day with the Team, instead of
+worshipping her beauty.
+
+And, later, the confidences would grow fewer; would come a day when the
+boy's image faded; when a fool's heart beat for the world-worn man who
+set her up as goddess, and then.... There were broken hearts and lives
+in high society which could tell the rest. There were women, married
+now, who shivered angrily at one hidden corner in their lives.
+
+This nut-brown maid, with her grey eyes and cloud of dusky hair,
+appealed to Jimmie. He came with a careless zest to each new conquest.
+But first there was bright, flashing Esme, paid court to now for half a
+year. The girl attracted vaguely as yet. Esme's careless coldness had
+made him the more determined, but to-day he felt more confident.
+
+Dinner was in two rooms, divided by an arch; the clatter of voices, the
+flash of lights at the little tables, made it like a restaurant.
+
+Belle Bellew, slim and tall, perfectly preserved, sorted her more
+important guests, took scant trouble with the others.
+
+The drawing-room almost dazzled Sybil. Lights glowed through rose
+petals; jewels flashed on women's dresses and necks and arms; silks
+shimmered; chiffons floated round cleverly-outlined forms.
+
+The finger-bowls at dinner all held stephanotis flowers; the cloying,
+heavy scent floated through the hot air.
+
+Navotsky, the dancer, was in black, dead and unrelieved, clinging to
+her sensuous limbs, outlining her white skin, and when she moved the
+sombre draperies parted, with flash of orange and silver underneath,
+sheath fitting, brilliantly gorgeous. A great band of diamonds outlined
+her small, sleek head.
+
+"More taxes on Grosse Holbein," murmured Mousie Cavendish. "Oh, what a
+joy to dine where there is a cook and not a preparer of defunct meats."
+
+There was no ostentation here, but a cunning which reached perfection.
+
+"Laying up for ourselves water-drinking in Homburg," remarked Jimmie,
+as he finished fish smothered in a sauce compound of many things, and
+went on with a soufflet of asparagus. "Well, it's worth it. Look at our
+Fritz, he's longing for stewed pork and plums; the butler tells me he
+has cold galantine and bread and pickles left in his room at night to
+assuage his hunger."
+
+As the blue smoke haze drifted, and black coffee and liqueurs came to
+interfere with digestion, Jimmie had dropped his voice to the note
+_intime_ which women recognize. He half whispered to Esme; his
+admiration for her was more open than usual.
+
+Sybil talked to a clean-shaven youth who found her very dull, and
+almost showed it. Who stared when she chattered and admired, and seemed
+to think it provincial not to take all the world for granted.
+
+"Think her lovely, that dancer woman. All right in her way, I imagine.
+What a lovely ice, did you say? S'pose it's all right. Nevah eat 'em
+myself."
+
+Lord Francis Lennon got up with a sigh of relief to confide to the fair
+lady of forty who amused him that he hated "dinin' in the nursery."
+
+Outside a new moon lay silver on her azure, star-spangled bed. The
+lights in the garden were making a glittering circle.
+
+Mr Bellew, a sleek, dark man, who was occasionally recognized by his
+own guests as their host, rang a bell and read out some rules.
+
+Twenty minutes were given, and then every guest must have assumed a
+character, and only used what materials they could find in the heap
+prepared in the hall. Prizes to be given.
+
+"Think us fools," said Mousie, pulling a green overdress from under a
+cushion and becoming Undine.
+
+But the picnic had begun. Men pinned on newspapers, rushed for
+cardboard to cut out armour, rifled the linen cupboards for
+tablecloths. Journals, sandwich men, knights, ghosts, came laughing to
+the garden, odd ends fluttering, pins proving unstable friends.
+
+Women got at the heap of odds and ends--gauzes, tinsel crowns, veils
+and lace, tying great sashes over their evening dresses, shrieking for
+inspiration.
+
+With a ripple of laughter, Lady Deverelle, wife of the tenth earl,
+flung off her long green skirt, and stood forth audaciously in a froth
+of green silk reaching not far below her knees; put a paper crown on
+her head, and called herself a fairy.
+
+Echo of their laughter drifted to the river. Boats massed outside as
+people peered through the shrubs.
+
+"Those dreadful people at the Bungalow," said Lady Susan Ploddy to her
+sister; they were on a houseboat a short way off.
+
+Into the circle of light ran a crowd of laughing people, snatching at
+enjoyment. Out on the velvet turf, dancing to the music of hidden
+musicians.
+
+"Idyllic but exhausting," said Undine to her partner. "There will be
+more fun to-night in looking on."
+
+The dance would not last long; it was only an excuse for a romp.
+
+Prince Fritz, his stout person hung about with dusters, calling himself
+a cheque, held the dancer in his arms, whirling her round. Navotsky
+shrugged her shoulders. "She was Night," she said, and merely put on a
+black veil, floating from her crown of diamond stars.
+
+The great mirror reflected them all; they danced the cotillon, taking
+up handsome presents carelessly; scarfs, pins, studs, a hundred pounds'
+worth of toys which no one wanted.
+
+Sybil Chauntsey had picked up roses, pinned them in her hair and in her
+dress, wrote on her card "Summer." She was left alone as they danced,
+until some man, seeing her, whirled her noisily round and laughed and
+dropped her. The girl felt that she was not one of this romping crowd;
+her pleasure began to taste bitterly to her.
+
+Esme, forgetting her troubles, had tied a sash round her dress, twisted
+some stuff into a head-dress, and called herself a Spaniard. The yellow
+gown and scarlet sash suited her.
+
+She only did one figure in the cotillon; she liked looking on. Then
+they formed up for the prize before the judges.
+
+Lady Deverelle, in her green underskirt, took first easily. They gave
+the Prince the next.
+
+The musicians thrummed, but the dancers were weary of fooling;
+shadow-like, they melted away into nooks and summer-houses, until from
+every corner echoed the hushed treble of women's voices, the hushed
+depth of men's.
+
+"See, I have marked down my corner." Captain Gore Helmsley tore off a
+shield of paper off his arm and took Esme's arm. She felt his fingers
+press on her warm, soft flesh. "See here." He had the key of a small
+outdoor room, a glorified summer-house hung about with fragrant roses,
+furnished with lounge chairs and soft cushions. Darkness wrapped it,
+but with a click Esme turned on a shaded light, giving a faint glimmer
+through the gloom.
+
+Gore Helmsley pulled the chairs to one side, so that to curious
+passers-by they were in shade. The dim glow fell on Esme, on her
+shining hair, her brilliantly pretty face.
+
+"So, it was good of you to come down," Jimmie said. "I was afraid you
+wouldn't. And once here--" he said.
+
+"And here," Esme's voice, interrupting, was not lowered. "Here we can
+be amused for two days--no more."
+
+"No more," he whispered.
+
+His hands pressing hers, his voice was more eloquent than words.
+
+"No more? After all these months, Esme," he said. "Here, where no one
+watches, where it is so easy to arrange--where--"
+
+Esme Carteret sat up in her chair, impatient, annoyed; she interrupted
+again sharply.
+
+"Where people make awful fools of themselves," she said.
+
+Gore Helmsley moved nearer to her. "Sweet fools," he muttered, and
+stooping suddenly, he kissed her.
+
+Esme got up; she neither started nor showed emotion. "My husband said
+no woman could trust you," she said coldly. "Come--I am going in."
+
+Captain Gore Helmsley stammered as he realized that Esme would never be
+pieced into the puzzle of his loves. Then, being extremely offended, he
+endeavoured to hide it, and Esme's faint malicious smile made him her
+enemy for life.
+
+Except for the kiss he had not committed himself in any way, and except
+for her one sharp speech Esme had said nothing to show resentment; they
+talked carelessly going in. He knew that he had thrown and lost.
+
+Sybil Chauntsey, overlooked in the prize-giving, while she had been
+involved in a romping dance, came towards the veranda. The partitions
+each held its Jack and Jill; she could hear rustles, whispers,
+low-toned laughter.
+
+From one Prince Fritz's guttural was unmistakable, as indiscreetly he
+muttered his adoration.
+
+"Mein angel," said Prince Fritz, as Sybil passed. "You shall haf the
+pearl--so that I clasp it on your neck."
+
+A big, squarely-built man stood at the lighted doorway; Sybil had met
+him in London--Lord Innistenne. He whistled as he saw her.
+
+"What the--why are you here, Miss Chauntsey?" he said slowly.
+
+"I came to see it all." Sybil's voice brightened. "It was fun, wasn't
+it? I made mother let me come."
+
+She was panting, her rose crown crooked, one of her chiffon sleeves
+torn.
+
+"Fun, for grown-ups," he said shortly. "I thought your mother"--he
+paused--"did not know the Bellews."
+
+"Captain Gore Helmsley got them to ask me. He wanted me to come down to
+see it all."
+
+Innistenne frowned. "Look here," he said. "Let me motor you up to town
+to-morrow. Leave this place."
+
+Sybil shook her head, doubtfully. She was not enjoying herself.
+
+There was no solemn meeting at breakfast at the Bellews. People who
+liked to come down strolled in to a meal which was kept hot until
+twelve. Others breakfasted outside their bedrooms; pretty women in
+silken wrappers might send invitations to a friend to join them in the
+rose-covered partitions outside their windows.
+
+The fresh air of a June day came whispering across the water and the
+shaven lawns. Later it would be very hot, but as yet the coolness of
+the dew was on the grass; the sun beamed softly gold through fresh
+green leaves.
+
+Esme smiled a little, for, coming into the breakfast-room, she saw that
+Jimmie Gore Helmsley meant to have no more to do with her. He did not
+come to her table, get her fruit, hang over her lovingly. Sybil, fresh
+as the day itself, was listening to his caressing voice, tasting her
+first plate of delicately-flavoured flattery.
+
+Feminine eighteen comes gaily to its breakfast. It has had no weary
+thoughts to trouble it, no fading skin to cream and powder.
+
+What was she going to do to-day? Oh! anything and everything; boat,
+play tennis, idle, watch the people.
+
+The silver sweetness of the morning called to Sybil. She would have
+breakfast out, under the trees. She saw tables ready there. Cool damp
+of dew, a gentle cloud of midges and flies did not deter Sybil. Cold
+tea and a narrow choice of breakfast, brought by a languid footman,
+were enough for her. Gore Helmsley, with the morning peevishness which
+comes when we are forty, brushed mosquitoes from his hair, stabbed
+irritably at congealing bacon and leathery egg, listened with tempered
+enthusiasm to Sybil's picture of ideal life.
+
+Out in the woods somewhere, breakfast and lunch and dinner with the
+lovely trees overhead, and the lovely grass at one's feet, and no
+stuffy rooms and cold roast beef, but eggs and fish and tea, she
+chattered.
+
+Captain Gore Helmsley said, "With pneumonia sauce," and said it
+irritably. He sat watching the girl's fresh face, the sparkle of her
+grey eyes, and presently deemed her worth even outdoor breakfast.
+
+As cigarettes banished midges his voice grew soft again; he knew how to
+listen, how to make youth talk of itself. He planned the day out; he
+bought a box of sweets for Sybil to crunch.
+
+The girl was excited, pleased by her conquest. She had seen Jimmie in
+attendance on well-known beauties; had never dreamt the black eyes
+would look at her with open admiration; or that the man would talk of
+lunches together, of a drive somewhere in his car, of singling her out.
+
+She thanked him warmly, with flushed cheeks which made her lovely.
+"Take her to Brighton some day, down to the sea, for a picnic! Oh, how
+lovely, and how good of him; he had so much to do, so many friends."
+
+Lord Innistenne, strolling across the gardens, saw the two under the
+big beech tree--saw Esme reading alone on the veranda.
+
+He walked down to the river, where two long chairs were hidden in a
+nook of shrubs, a slight, brown-eyed woman sitting in one, sitting
+palpably waiting.
+
+"Joan, would you do good works?" he said. "Let this day slip for it."
+
+She looked up at him quickly.
+
+"Come with me, use persuasion, get the Chauntsey child back to London
+to her mother. I'll drive her up."
+
+Joan Blacker looked at the river, seen dimly through the trees, at the
+wall of shrubs about the hidden nook. They had not many days like this.
+Then wistfully she looked at Innistenne's strong, rugged face--a look
+with a shade of fear in it, the fear which must haunt each woman who
+has sold her birthright, purity, that what is so much to her may be
+mere pastime to the man she loves. Joan Blacker might have been
+moderately unhappy, moderately lonely all her life, if Innistenne had
+not come across her path.
+
+"The dark Adonis is fitting arrows to his bow," said Innistenne. "He
+delights in the bringing to earth of foolish, half-fledged birdlings.
+We shall be back early, Joan. Come--help me."
+
+She had counted on her morning; on a few hours of the talking women
+delight in, of tender memories referred to, of future plans discussed.
+But without a word she got up.
+
+"She is very pretty, Fred." Joan Blacker stopped once, looked up at
+Innistenne.
+
+"She may be," he said carelessly. "There is a brick wall named Joan
+built across my vision, you see."
+
+It was her reward--she was satisfied.
+
+Jimmie Gore Helmsley's black eyes did not smile at a pair of intruders.
+He was taking Sybil out in a punt after lunch, with a tea-basket for a
+picnic. He strolled off now with a last low word to Sybil. "Come to the
+rose garden. I'll wait there. Bother these people!"
+
+Joan Blacker did not fail in her good deed. She said some simple things
+to Sybil--told her quietly that the Bungalow was not fit for her; that
+if her mother realized, or heard, it might stop liberty for evermore.
+
+"To go back to London," cried Sybil, "to the house in Lancaster Gate,
+to the dreariness of a dull dinner there. Navotsky was to dance
+to-night. Besides--Mrs Bellew--"
+
+"The servants may tell her that there is a vacant room," said Joan,
+equably, "otherwise she will not know. And for to-night--we'll take you
+out somewhere if you like, in London. I warn you your mother does not
+understand."
+
+When Gore Helmsley, attractive to those who admired him in his
+flannels, strolled back to look for a Sybil who came not, he only saw
+the dust of a motor on the road at the back of the house.
+
+"Miss Chauntsey has gone back to London," said Esme. "Her mother, I
+think, telephoned."
+
+Gore Helmsley nodded carelessly. But Esme, looking drearily out across
+the gardens, trying hard not to think, had made a bitter enemy.
+
+She was rung up by Denise Blakeney later.
+
+"Yes. Cyril leaves next week. I tell you, Esme, I am afraid--afraid of
+when he comes back. Be careful of cross lines. No one will know.
+Dismiss your maid at once. Come to me here and write to her if you
+think it best."
+
+Esme hung up the receiver with a sigh. The great scheme was becoming
+greater, looming before her. But money and liberty and an allowance
+made it all feasible.
+
+A week later Bertie Carteret sailed for South Africa, and on the same
+day a broad, quiet man left London for a year's shooting. Both thought
+of their wives as the big steamers began to churn up the water. But one
+with wistful longing, looking back at a figure on the quay which waved
+and waved until it was lost, a blur among other figures; and one whose
+mouth set grimly as he recalled a good-bye in a luxurious dining-room,
+arms which he had put away from his neck, and an unsteady voice which
+had hinted of some confession which he would not hear.
+
+"Later," said Cyril Blakeney, "later." But his eyes were full of bitter
+hatred for the thing which, for his name's sake, he meant to do.
+
+Some hours after the steamer had left port Marie Leroy was rung up on
+the telephone.
+
+She stood listening, a curious expression on her dark face, her lips
+murmuring, "Oui, madame. Oui, certainement, madame."
+
+Esme was dismissing her, was going away with Lady Blakeney, wanted no
+maid. Marie was to receive extra wages, a superfine character; to pack
+Madame's things.
+
+Marie walked away, her slim brown fingers pressed together.
+
+"And--what means it?" said the Frenchwoman, softly. "That would I like
+to know. What means it?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+Winter came softly across Italy. There were hours of sunlight, breaths
+of wind which carried no chill dampness. Here on a sheltered slope, its
+back to the hills, its windows overlooking stretches of olive groves, a
+villa had been built. Once a country home for a prince, now patched and
+painted when a strange tenant took it.
+
+The _Morning Post_ had announced that "Lady Blakeney and Mrs Carteret
+had left London together for the Continent. Lady Blakeney, having found
+the strain of the season too much this year, was going to rest by the
+sea in some quiet part of France." Later, a rumour crept out; there was
+a reason for the delicacy. After all these years! Denise had just
+whispered a hint before she left. She was coming home in the spring.
+
+The difficulty of losing oneself was soon forced upon the two
+wanderers. They had gone without maids; they packed abominably; they
+were helpless without the attendance they had been used to.
+
+Denise remarked tearfully that she had never put on her own stockings
+except once, when she was paddling. Esme, less helpless, helped her,
+but was querulous, full of fancies, ill-pleased with life.
+
+After a time Denise changed her trim dresses for loose coats and
+skirts. The two moved to Dinard, met a few friends there. Observant
+people looked shrewdly significant.
+
+It was time then! When? they asked. Oh! some time in the spring. March,
+Denise said. Yes, it was quite true.
+
+They wrote to friends at home.
+
+Then came a time when they tried to vanish, went to small towns and
+fretted in dull hotels.
+
+Denise had made inquiries, found out where there was a good doctor. One
+day the two came to Riccione, a little Italian town, built on a gentle
+slope, spying at the distant mountains, able, with powerful glasses, to
+catch a shimmer of the distant sea.
+
+Luigi Frascatelle, slight and dark, a man immersed in his art of
+curing, was startled by the visit of two English ladies.
+
+They were taking the Villa Picciani, ten miles out; they were coming in
+December. One asked for advice, for attendance if necessary.
+
+Frascatelle's dark eyes read the sign words of wealth; the woman who
+did spokeswoman was brown, slender, distinguished, but wrapped in a
+long cloak; the other dazzlingly fair, younger, black circles under her
+brilliant blue eyes.
+
+"Would the signor tell them where to procure servants--men and women?
+They would hire a motor. Was there a nurse, a trained one, available
+for some time? Lady Blakeney was nervous."
+
+"Lady Blakeney!" Luigi looked at the fair girl curiously. "But,
+Madame," he spoke French, "will not Madame return for the event to
+England--to the great physicians there--to her own home?"
+
+"Sir Cyril is away; her ladyship is lonely in England; has a fancy for
+sunshine and for solitude."
+
+The doctor bowed. "Ah! at such times there are ever fancies, better
+indulged. Ah! si, always better indulged."
+
+The ladies were coming in December. He would call as required; there
+were worthy servants to be found. There was one, English.
+
+"No," the elder woman shot out, "all Italian. We want your Italian
+cooking, Es--Denise and I. We want omelettes, macaroni, to amuse us in
+our solitude."
+
+"But, sapristi! a strange amusement," said the doctor to himself.
+
+"You will get us reliable servants, signor?" Denise asked.
+
+"Che lo sa," said Luigi, absently. "Ah! yes, Madame, certainly."
+
+"It is so kind of you," Denise went on graciously, "so very kind and
+good, signor."
+
+He kept her back, he pressed his slim, strong fingers together.
+
+"Madame, is it wise for your friend to be out here alone? She does not
+look strong; she is surely hysterical, nervous."
+
+"It is her fancy, signor. I have left England to be with her and
+indulge it."
+
+"The devotion of a friend," said Luigi. "And--Monsieur Sir Blakenee--is
+he satisfied?"
+
+"He is abroad, shooting. Miladi has written, trusts he may meet her in
+England in time. We, will return before the event; but it is well to be
+prepared, to know of help if it is needed."
+
+"That's all over," said Denise, coming out. "Why, child, don't look so
+white."
+
+Denise had written to her husband, her letter was making its way up to
+a camping-ground under huge mountains, where Sir Cyril was shooting. It
+told her news; named March as the date; prayed him to meet her in
+London. Went on to talk simply of having been a fool, no more, a fool,
+and of how she had loved him before he went. But now she had left her
+old life, was travelling with Esme Carteret, enjoying herself as well
+as health would permit. The past was the past; in the future an heir to
+his name might make Cyrrie happier. She tried to tell before he left,
+but she was not sure then.
+
+A shallow woman, scheming for her own ends, she did not see the man's
+face as he read the letter. Opening it carelessly, sitting stricken,
+staring at it; his strong face stirred, the harsh lines slipping from
+it.
+
+"Poor Denise," he said. "It was that she wanted to tell. Oh! poor old
+Denise--after all these years. The letter's dated Florence; she says to
+write to England as they're moving about. Poor old Denise!" he went on,
+and looked into the fire. "Perhaps she was only a fool. But the mother
+of my child," said Sir Cyril, simply, "is my wife for evermore."
+
+His man, one he had had for years, was making a stew with skill.
+
+"Reynolds," he shot out, "Reynolds! We trek for the coast to-morrow.
+Her ladyship wants me, Reynolds. There's an heir coming."
+
+Reynolds gave polite congratulation.
+
+"Comin' just in time," muttered the valet to the stew. "Just in time,
+milady."
+
+Denise had no thought of how her husband's big nature would be moved.
+How, with old tender thoughts crowding back on him, he sat in the
+shadows and made plans, plans which included her, Denise, his wife.
+He'd take her on that yachting trip she'd hankered for; she'd want a
+change in the spring; they'd have a new honeymoon off her pet coast of
+Italy. But could they leave the child? The mystery of birth comes
+freshly to each man who calls himself Father for the first time. The
+child--He'd be in the old nurseries at White Friars, behind the wooden
+bars. He'd be a sturdy boy, strong, bright-eyed, no puling weakling,
+but a true Blakeney, clean-limbed and big. Soon he'd come toddling out
+in the gardens, a little creature wondering at big life; a mite who had
+to be taught the names of simple things. And later still he would ride
+and shoot and fish and swim, and learn that the Blakeneys were men of
+clean lives, and that he must follow the tracks of his fathers. Honour
+first, the house motto was carved over the old mantelshelf in the hall,
+where Cyril had been shown it as a boy.
+
+Honour first! And when he re-read his letter, the letter which changed
+his life from loneliness to sudden hope of happiness, Denise was coming
+out of the little house in the Italian town, puckering her forehead
+lest she had forgotten anything to make her scheme perfect.
+
+"If we catch that weekly boat we could get to England by February,
+Reynolds."
+
+"Yes, Sir Cyril; just about the second or first week of February."
+
+"I can cable from the coast. Tell her ladyship to meet me."
+
+Sir Cyril was boyish as he sat dreaming. Big people have the power to
+put the past behind them, to see sunshine in the future.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+The brown-skinned Italian nurse looked regretfully at the morsel of
+humanity in her arms. A bonny, bright-eyed little thing, blinking at
+the world solemnly.
+
+"I shall miss my bambino, signora," she said sadly.
+
+Esme talked haltingly; she bent over the boy, looking down at him; she
+was pale, a little worn and thin; some of the brilliance had left her
+eyes.
+
+"Is he not a pride--a joy? Ah, signora. Old Beatrice has nursed many
+bambinos, but none such as this."
+
+Esme turned away impatiently. She looked out across the Italian
+landscape, fair even in winter.
+
+It was January. There would be time to hunt still in England, to enjoy
+herself. To taste the reward of her scheme. But....
+
+"None such as this." The mite cooed at nothing, smiling and stretching
+his hands.
+
+"Esme! I mean Denise!"
+
+Lady Blakeney ran into the room, calling excitedly: "My dear, the post
+is in."
+
+"Well! Carefully, Esme." Esme flung accent on the name. "Well?"
+
+"The post! Cyril has written; oh, it's splendid."
+
+The nurse bent over her charge, crooning to it, but there was a curious
+look on her face.
+
+"Oh, carefully!" said Esme, shutting the door, going out on to the old
+marble terrace. "Carefully. One never knows what these people
+understand. You must not take the letters."
+
+"I had to, Esme. He's caught some boat. He will be in London at once.
+He--Cyril! He will hear--see the papers. We must leave at once,
+to-morrow. I am wiring to Paris, and to the nurse in London. Wiring for
+rooms. Ah! the doctor, prying at us."
+
+But little Luigi was not prying. He came to advise, to counsel caution
+for the fair English miladi. She must not run about so much.
+
+"There was a strain," he said. "Madame was not well--no, not well at
+all."
+
+His dark eyes looked at Esme's drawn face; he grunted thoughtfully.
+
+"Madame is not so strong," he said. "It is but three weeks--but three,
+and she is up and about."
+
+"And we leave to-morrow," she said. "My husband is coming home, signor.
+I must fly to meet him."
+
+"He could come here," said Luigi Frascatelle. "You are not fit to
+travel."
+
+"He hates Italy. This was my fancy--this coming here."
+
+Her fancy! The big, bare rooms had made Esme nervous and irritable; she
+had chafed during the dullness of waiting; had grown fretful and
+afraid. She hated the big room she had lain sick in, with its ornate
+bed, its bare, polished boards; the fire of chestnut wood. How often
+she had woken in terror, dreading what must come to her in it. Then
+there was constant need of caution; the strain of remembering had told
+on the woman who ought to have been with her own people, with her hours
+full, her time taken up.
+
+She could have played bridge, grumbled to her friends, learnt comfort,
+been with her husband.
+
+"No, Madame is nervous; not well," said the little Italian, "run down.
+Better if Sir Blakeney came here to take Madame the journey. Madame
+does not know that there were difficulties which have weakened her."
+
+Esme went away irritably. Denise, laughing, excited, came in.
+
+"She will be all right," she said impatiently. "It is nothing, surely,
+mere natural strain."
+
+"Che lo sa?" said Frascatelle, half to himself. "There is a
+nervousness, Madame, as if from mental strain--and there were
+complications at the birth."
+
+"It's this Italy," Denise said carelessly, "so depressing."
+
+"But I thought," Luigi looked up in astonishment, "that Italy was
+Miladi's whim--"
+
+"But of course," Denise flushed, "but whims, signor, are not always
+wise. The place was lonely."
+
+When Luigi Frascatelle came next day to the villa it was empty. The
+Italian men and maids had been paid off liberally. Beatrice, weeping
+for her charge, had come in the motor to the station and seen the
+ladies off. They were both thickly veiled, both muffled up.
+
+The little doctor drove back to the town and on to the station, to meet
+the old woman returning from the station.
+
+"From here to Paris, without maids, without a nurse," he cried, "and
+with a baby of four weeks. They are strange, these English."
+
+"They who know not how to feed it," groaned Beatrice. "All is not
+right, signor."
+
+He drove back to his house; he piled fragrant chestnut wood upon the
+fire; he applied himself thoughtfully to a dish of golden risotto.
+
+"There is something strange about this miladi," he said to his
+favourite almond pudding. "No, all is not right."
+
+It was a weary journey. Little Cyril learnt to weep upon it, torn from
+kindly arms who knew how to hold him; he learnt the meaning of pain and
+hunger. He voiced his protest as best he could.
+
+"Oh! stop him, Esme. Stop the brat!"
+
+Denise woke at the fretful wailing. "Make a bed for him there, a bed on
+the seat," she said.
+
+"He might fall off." Esme held the whimpering bundle in her arms, sat
+wearily, afraid she might drop off to sleep.
+
+"Feed him then; he wants milk. Oh, what a terrible journey!"
+
+Yet she did nothing on it; for Esme, curiously silent, saw to the child.
+
+A tall woman, kindly-faced, hurried through the crowd at the Gare;
+cried out as she saw the baby in Esme's arms.
+
+"Lady Blakeney, is it not? I am the nurse, Mrs Stanson, engaged for
+your ladyship. Oh, milady, have you come alone--without a nurse?"
+
+"The nurse was useless, insolent, neglecting baby," said Lady Blakeney,
+carelessly. "Take him now. He is so naughty. The woman neglected him."
+
+"As those foreigners would do; yet he looks splendid. One moment,
+milady, while I gather these things."
+
+She put the baby into Denise's arms, turning to pick up some of the
+tiny traveller's luggage. "Oh, not like that, milady," she cried, for
+the small head flopped on a stiffly-held arm and the boy wailed
+fretfully.
+
+"H'm!" Esme swept the mite out of Denise's hold. "Here! give him to me.
+H'sh, baby, hush!"
+
+The nurse looked puzzled. She had seen Lady Blakeney once in London,
+but she blinked now, afraid her memory had played her false.
+
+"Excuse me," she began, "I understood that this was her ladyship." She
+looked at Denise.
+
+"_I_ am Lady Blakeney," said Denise, angrily. "Oh! two taxis, please. I
+am tired of crying babies. Take him in one."
+
+Mrs Stanson looked grave.
+
+Esme's eyes followed the tall woman who carried a little bundle down
+the platform. A sudden fierce ache of regret came to her--regret and
+anger. This little, white-limbed thing was hers. She would not have
+sent it off alone.
+
+"Her ladyship," said Mrs Stanson, later, as she put her charge to
+sleep, "does not seem to care for children, ma'am."
+
+"Some people do not." Esme looked at the sleeping face. "He is happier
+now that you have him, nurse."
+
+Downstairs the God of Chance was working wonders.
+
+Denise, coming into the hall of the Bristol, cried out in astonishment.
+
+A big man was registering at the bureau. Her name was written before
+his. He swung round with a cry as he looked at it.
+
+"Denise!" his hands were on hers. He held them hard. "Denise, I got a
+paper at Marseilles. My poor child, out away there in Italy. Were you
+ill? It was two months too soon."
+
+With a little sob Denise held to the big strong hands, knew then what
+she had so nearly lost; this man's protection, his name; his kind eyes
+looked into hers.
+
+The past was past; she knew that. Some women make resolutions and keep
+them. Denise did then. For the future, the future she had made by
+fraud, Sir Cyril Blakeney's wife should be above suspicion.
+
+"Oh, Denny, why didn't you tell me--keep me here?"
+
+"I was afraid," she faltered. "You were cross then. And I was not sure."
+
+"I was cross then." He took her away to a quiet corner. "That's over,
+my wife. And the boy? Come up to see him. Our boy! He's not delicate, I
+hope?"
+
+"Oh, not yet--he'll be asleep now." Denise was gay, radiant, her colour
+bright. "I'm hungry, Cyrrie. Let's have dinner now--and talk--talk!"
+
+"Talk," he laughed. "Why didn't you wire for Sir Herman to go out? Were
+you bad? I never saw you looking stronger."
+
+"Oh, no, I was not bad. I'm very strong," she said, a little uneasily.
+
+"And you came on so soon. There's nothing wrong with him, is there? Oh,
+Denise, tell me."
+
+"Wrong with him? No!" she said, laughing carelessly. "He's a great
+baby."
+
+Denise was looking through a door of life which she had never tried to
+open, that of love and trust. She was too shallow to regret the use of
+the false key which she had forced it open with. She was safe; Cyril
+would never bring up the past to the boy's mother.
+
+"Come then, and see a sleeping bundle of flannels," she said.
+
+The boy had just gone to sleep. Sir Cyril's first view of him was with
+Esme stooping over the cot, looking wistfully down at the tiny face.
+
+"Mrs Carteret has quite a way with a child," said the nurse,
+graciously. "He's a splendid boy, Sir Cyril."
+
+Sir Cyril had had shy ideas of a something whispered across the new
+hope in his life, of a promise for the future or regrets for the past.
+As it was, he could only stand almost awkwardly, afraid that a clumsy
+movement might wake the child.
+
+"Great fellow, isn't he?" he said sheepishly.
+
+"A splendid boy, Sir Cyril--really splendid; fair, sir, as you are; he
+has a curious mark, a regular small plum, on his shoulder."
+
+Esme started. Just on her shoulder she had a round, purple mark, shaped
+as a plum; she had never dreamt of the baby inheriting it.
+
+A true Blakeney, big and strong, cleanly made, Sir Cyril stood by the
+cot, with the pride of this heir to his big in him.
+
+"He's just wonderful, Den," he said simply. "I thought that, coming too
+soon, he might be puny, delicate--but he's fine."
+
+Esme turned away. It was her boy they praised, and she knew the
+bitterness of jealousy.
+
+If gold could have been fried for dinner, and diamonds used for sauce,
+Sir Cyril would have ordered them that night. He was too big and quiet
+to be openly hilarious, but its very quiet made it more marked. He
+ordered a special dinner, special wines, fruit, boxes of sweets. The
+table was littered as if it were one at Maxim's. To-morrow they would
+search Paris for a memento, for something to mark this meeting.
+
+Esme, listening, felt as some mortal who, standing in the cold, looks
+through clear glass at a blazing fire yet cannot warm himself. They
+shut a door on her; she had no boy lying upstairs; no husband to
+rejoice in his heir.
+
+The cold stung bitterly; it loosed dull pangs of envy, of futile wrath.
+For what had brought these two together was hers, and she had sold it.
+Sometimes they turned to her vaguely, bringing her into their plans.
+Esme would come shopping in the morning, of course, help to choose
+jewels; Esme had been such a friend--so devoted.
+
+"I'll never forget it, Mrs Carteret," Sir Cyril said once. "You lost
+half a year to keep my wife company. Lord! you're a real friend!"
+
+"Yes." Esme crunched a silvered bonbon, a cunning mixture of almonds
+and fruit and sugar. She picked another up, looking at it. Had she not
+looked on life as a bonbon, to crunch prettily and enjoy, a painted,
+flavoured piece of sugar?
+
+She had money; she could go to the hidden shops on the second storeys,
+and buy the dainty fripperies that Paris knows how to produce; she
+wanted a fur coat, new frocks, hats, a dozen things.
+
+Sir Cyril was bending close to his wife, holding her out a glass of
+Chartreuse, clinking it against hers.
+
+"Den," his voice was stirred by deep emotion, "some day we'll go, you
+and I, and take that villa for a month, and I can see where my boy was
+born."
+
+The glassful of amber syrup fell on the table, the glass splinters
+dulled by the oily liquid.
+
+"Oh, some day," said Denise, trembling. "How stupid of me! But it was a
+dull spot, Cyrrie. It was only fancy, nerves, which took me there.
+Wasn't it dull, Den"--she stopped--"Esme?"
+
+"I never hated any place so much in my life," said Esme, dully.
+
+That night she crept along the corridor, stood listening at a door.
+
+Primitive instinct was stronger than the power of money. Her boy lay
+sleeping in that quiet room.
+
+"Oh, Esme!"--Denise called her into her room next day--"Esme! Come
+here! You can go, Summers."
+
+Her new maid, sent from England with the nurse, went quietly out.
+
+"Esme!" Denise lowered her voice. "About that money. I owe you some
+now. I can't write cheques, you see, every half-year; but this time I
+can explain." She threw a slip of paper across to Esme.
+
+"Thank you. And the boy?" said Esme.
+
+"Oh! he's all right. I saw Mrs Stanson. He slept well. Don't mess about
+him, Esme! It would only look silly--better not. Will you meet us at
+the Ritz for _dejeuner_?"
+
+Esme excused herself. She might be late. She would come back to the
+hotel.
+
+She went out into the crisp, stinging cold of early February. Touch of
+frost on Paris, drift of hot air from shop doors, clear sunlight
+overhead, people hurrying along the dry pavements. Furs everywhere,
+outlining piquant French faces; from solid sombre imitation to the
+sheen of Russian sable and the coarse richness of silver fox.
+
+A fur coat--Esme wanted one--went restlessly into a shop, tried on,
+priced, gloried in their soft richness, their linings of mauve and
+white; saw her fair beauty framed by dark sable, by light-hued mink, by
+rich fox skin, and knew again disappointment.
+
+The three coats she wanted were splendid things; each one would take
+almost all her money, leave nothing for frocks and hats.
+
+Impatiently, almost angrily, she stood frowning at the glass.
+
+"Oh! yes, the coat was lovely; but the price! Four hundred pounds of
+English money; and this other was five!" There was the little coat of
+mink priced at a mere bagatelle.
+
+"Yes, but Madame must see that it was coarse beside the others."
+
+Cunningly the shopman put the two together; showed the rare sheen of
+the sable, the cravat of real lace, the exquisite tinting of the blue
+and silver brocade lining, and laid against it a coat which would have
+looked rich alone, but here, against this, was a mere outcast.
+
+"Madame sees; the coat is cheap--a bargain. We sold one to-day, almost
+like it. Ah! here it is!"
+
+"I must take the cheap one," Esme muttered. "I--"
+
+"See, this one was sold to Milady Blakeney. And this which we wish
+Madame to have is almost as good. Milady's has remained for slight
+alteration."
+
+Truly a gorgeous garment this--sables black in their splendour; clasps
+of jade and silver and paste; lining such as fairy princesses might
+wear. A ruffle of old Mechlin.
+
+"This is of English money nine hundred pounds. Unique, exquisite. And
+this other looks as well."
+
+Sudden bitter resentment choked Esme. Denise could have this coat and
+go on to other shops to buy jewels, laces, unneeded follies. What was
+five hundred pounds? Denise might easily have taken her out to-day,
+bought her furs or given her twice the stipulated money; this time
+might have been generous.
+
+"Oh! I'll take this one." Esme touched the sable coat. After all, she
+had money in the bank; she had lived free for six months. "Yes, I'll
+pay for it now."
+
+She had to wait while they went to the bank; then she went out in the
+rich mantle. It was heavy, a little difficult to walk in, but she could
+see her fair face against the dark furs as she peered into mirrors.
+
+At the dressmaker's she grew irritable again. Why again should all she
+wanted be so dear? That soft wisp of satin and chiffon and lace, a mere
+rag in the hand, but on a model cunningly outlining rounded limbs,
+setting off a soft throat, billowing about one's feet; that tea-gown of
+opal velvet; that severe coat and skirt of blue, were all beyond her
+now that the coat was hers. Yet Esme bought recklessly, a sullen anger
+driving her. Madame Arielle would copy and create others, these three
+she must have. And this--and this blouse; another dress and scarf.
+
+Esme had ordered there before, but never in this style. Madame looked
+dubious.
+
+"I'll pay you fifty now on account." And so only fifty left of a
+half-yearly price. "That brown--you'll copy it at once?"
+
+"Ah, yes--shortly." But Madame was pressed. "Milady Blakeney had been
+in ordering a dozen frocks, but of a beauty," gushed Madame, "one all
+of real lace and silver crepe. Ah, yes."
+
+Denise again before her, dwarfing her, Esme's, orders. The coat seemed
+heavier now. She bought hats almost languidly; passed a jeweller's
+window, saw a necklace, a thing of diamonds and emeralds exquisite in
+its fine work, with one great diamond swinging from the fret of green
+and white.
+
+"How much?" Esme shrugged her shoulders. "It would have gone so well
+with her new gown." She bought a tiny brooch of enamel and went out.
+
+It was dull at lunch at the Cafe de la Paix. She did not go back for
+it. It was stupid to eat alone; the omelette tasted leathery; the
+little fillets tough; the place was overheated; she would have taken
+off her coat, but the dress underneath was last year's, therefore a
+thing to be hidden.
+
+Men stared at the beautiful English woman in her daring green hat and
+gorgeous furs.
+
+Sipping her liqueur, Esme tried to lose her irritation in dreams of the
+future. Bertie would be home; they would take up their old happy life;
+but even more happily. She would be so well off now. Able to buy her
+own frocks, to help in many ways. When she got back she would go off to
+hunt somewhere. Esme looked at her hands; they were so much thinner.
+Would she be strong enough to hunt? She had lost her rounded contours;
+she knew that there were new lines on her fair skin, that she had lost
+some of her youth.
+
+These things age one. And yet--"L'addition," she said sharply. Yet she
+thought of a little soft thing lying in the big upstairs room at the
+Bristol, and something hurt her sharply again.
+
+She was tired of shopping, she would go back there now. It was lonely
+in Paris.
+
+Mrs Stanson, writing letters to engage a variety of nursemaids--she
+considered a person of her position must be thoroughly waited on--was
+surprised by a visit from Esme.
+
+The baby was splendid after all his trials and his journey. Mrs Stanson
+did not hold with infants travelling; she dreaded the cold journey back
+to England.
+
+"Nor do I hold with the heat of these here rooms," said the English
+nurse, "and with the cold a-rushing in like a mad dog with its mouth
+open if one stirs a window. Give me air for a child, Mrs Carteret, air
+and warmth; but above all, air."
+
+An autocrat of the nursery, this Mrs Stanson, who had nursed heirs of
+great houses and loved her charges. A death now, the passing of pretty
+delicate Lady de Powers and her infant son, had set the woman free.
+
+"You'll love him, Mrs Stanson--be good to him?" Esme flung out the
+words in sudden impulse; she took the smiling baby up.
+
+"I declare, Mrs Carteret, he might be yours instead of her ladyship's,"
+laughed the nurse. "She came in for five minutes, and asked if I wanted
+anything, and to order what I wanted. I made it two nursery-maids
+to-day. Like many young mothers, she's careless. It's the ladies
+without that would give their eyes for one," said Mrs Stanson, softly.
+
+"Without." A slur on her, Esme, whose child was in her arms. Something
+hurt in her throat; she turned red and then white. She sat for an hour
+in the big bright room, listening to all the ills which lurk in wait
+for infant life, related with gusto by the nurse. A little chill, a
+spoon of soured food, and poof! out goes the life; then later,
+chicken-pox, measles, whooping-cough; wet feet. It seemed wonderful to
+think that there were any children left alive. Little Cyril, dribbling
+thoughtfully, had no idea of what was before him.
+
+But at the end, comfort. "And yet they lives," said Mrs Stanson, "lives
+on, on beer and dripping, which I am informed is used as baby food by
+the very poor."
+
+Denise came in for tea, fresh, radiant, wrapped in a great stole of
+fox. Big Sir Cyril pulling little boxes innumerable from his pockets.
+
+They had a sitting-room. Denise called Esme in to her, spread purchases
+on the table.
+
+"See, Esme--this pendant, isn't it sweet? And this enamel clasp--and
+this brooch--and that diamond heart." The table glittered with the
+things. "Oh, Cyril could not buy enough for me. He is so good."
+
+Almost sullenly Esme looked down at the stone of green, white and red;
+the pendant and necklace was the one which she had coveted. Denise
+might offer to give her some of these; she might ask her if there was
+nothing she wanted.
+
+"And I got you something, Es--just as remembrance. Cyril wished me to.
+Summers! bring in the parcels. Yes, there it is."
+
+Esme knew the label--that of a huge shop close to the Place de l'Opera;
+good, but bourgeois, cheap.
+
+"See! I hate that musquash thing you wear. It's too dark for you."
+Denise pulled out a stole of brown fox--a huge thing, covered with
+tails, but meretricious, showy; the satin of the lining crackled as she
+touched it. This for all she had done for her friend.
+
+"Thank you, Denise." Esme took up the fur. "How pretty. It was nice of
+you to think of me, now that I am of no further use."
+
+Denise looked up, startled by momentary fear. Surely Esme was more than
+content with her share of the bargain. Was glad to be rid of her
+unwanted brat; to have ample allowance and be free. For a minute she
+saw what it might be if Esme failed her.
+
+But Denise was shallowly optimistic; she laughed the fears away; she
+kissed Esme affectionately.
+
+"It was a great thought, and it's splendidly over," she
+whispered--"over for us both."
+
+"And you? You really begin to feel that he is yours?" whispered Esme
+back, almost fiercely.
+
+"I believe I do. I shall have forgotten it completely in ten years'
+time," laughed Lady Blakeney.
+
+"And--shall I?" said Esme to herself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+"Some people," said Mousie Cavendish, "appear to have come into a
+fortune."
+
+She touched Esme Carteret's sable coat, stroking the soft fur, her
+small greenish eyes looking up wickedly.
+
+"Friends ... are nice things," said Mousie, softly. "Hey, my pretty
+Esme."
+
+Esme flushed. Five minutes before she had grumbled at her poverty, now
+she came down in her splendid wrap waiting for the motor.
+
+Money had never seemed to go so fast. The half-year's allowance from
+Denise had been spent in a day. More new frocks, new habits had seemed
+necessary. A restlessness haunted Esme; she was not satisfied with
+anything, she was nervous, lacked appetite, had grown thin.
+
+She was doing the last of the hunting season at Coombe Regis now, an
+old Elizabethan house taken by the Holbrooks.
+
+Their only difficulty, as Mousie said sweetly, is "that they cannot
+remake the bricks with gold dust, it's so ordinary to have one's house
+made of clay and straw and water, otherwise bricks."
+
+There were horses in the stables, sleek, shining hunters, belonging to
+friends who came to stay. Esme hired from a local stable. She rode hard
+and straight, but came in tired after her day; her old perfect health
+had deserted her.
+
+"There," said Mousie, looking out onto the chill March day, "is Luke,
+our host, seeking for something he may spend money on. He wants to be a
+peer next birthday, and his hopes are high."
+
+The flowers in the old-fashioned flower-garden were a blaze of
+magnificence. Mr Holbrook was looking at them, greatly interested in
+one patch of pure white daffodils because he had paid ten pounds a
+piece for the bulbs. The Cabinet minister who was coming to stay was a
+florist. A gift of some of these might please him greatly.
+
+The Holbrooks had made Coombe Regis into a passable imitation of a
+Hotel de Luxe. The old hall was now a palm court, heated by hot air,
+its great open fireplace offended by a new grate which held coals; the
+drawing-room was magnificent in dull blue and gold; stiffly hideous,
+with great mirrors shining everywhere.
+
+The dining-room was a mass of mechanical devices, of lifts and electric
+heaters and telephones to everywhere, the small tables were all
+polished wood spread with slips of real lace. One dined scratchily off
+luke-warm silver, one's breakfast cup was Crown Derby set in filigree.
+
+"So annoying of the hens not to learn to lay golden eggs," remarked Mrs
+Cavendish one morning when she had examined half a dozen things smoking
+over the electric heaters. "What's the use of this pure gold Orpington
+here sitting on a silver nest when she only hatches things which can be
+purchased at a penny and twopence each. No, I refuse to eat truffles
+and cream and salmon for breakfast, nor do I require ham and champagne
+sauce."
+
+A big party had assembled for the ball of Regis Hunt races. Dull people
+and smart people, who ate their meals together with regret, and drifted
+apart directly afterwards. The dull people ate the ornamented dishes
+and sighed inwardly for roast mutton, the smart people picked at them
+and wanted the French cookery their greedy souls adored.
+
+But Mr Holbrook was content. He was getting on. He did kind things
+which he concealed rigorously, and he did generous things for his own
+benefit, and his peerage loomed ahead.
+
+"My dear love," said Holbrook, coming into the library. He had
+furnished the shelves with first editions of various authors whom no
+one ever read. Statues stood, coldly graceful in corners, gleaming
+white against the brown background. The library table carried a writing
+set of leather worked in gold. Grace Holbrook was dictating letters to
+her secretary, a slim girl with a pink nose and an irritated expression.
+
+"My dear," said Holbrook. "Do you think--?" He paused.
+
+"You can go, Miss Harris," said Mrs Holbrook.
+
+"Do you think," he said--"hum, Critennery has a little weakness ... she
+dances at the Magnificent, in some gauze ... that we could have her
+down. Lady Ermyntrude is not coming."
+
+"We couldn't," said Mrs Holbrook, hastily. "The Duchess is coming."
+
+"Well, it's quite his little weakness and he can do as he likes," said
+Holbrook, mournfully. "I do want Henry to be Lord Regis, my love. It's
+just to dance on Saturday. I would arrange with Hewson of the
+Magnificent. And dancers are so fashionable."
+
+"My dear Luke, the Duchess of Dullshire will be here," said his wife,
+firmly, "and the Trents, and Lord Frensham. We couldn't. The Duchess
+was at the Magnificent, I remember seeing it mentioned--she must have
+seen the woman without any ... that is dancing."
+
+"She is so very graceful," said Luke. "Well, my love, of course if we
+cannot. But artistes do go everywhere now. She lunches with Lady
+Ermyntrude, and I thought that her presence, combined with a present of
+those Angel bulb roots; but if you object ... well, it's quite a little
+weakness, my love. Critennery would have liked to talk to Mavis Moover."
+
+Mrs Holbrook wavered visibly. "If the Duchess had not been in front,"
+she said; "still, she's very blind and won't wear glasses; she may not
+have noticed the gauze. I don't want our party to be spoilt, Luke,
+but--"
+
+"Think it over, my love," said Holbrook, going out. "Think it over. And
+there's Jimmie Gore Helmsley coming. I see his name down. I don't like
+him, Gracie. He's a bad 'un, my love."
+
+"He goes everywhere. He's running a horse," said Mrs Holbrook. "That
+long-legged bay thing we saw galloping to-day. People say it will win.
+He goes everywhere, Luke."
+
+"So much the worse," said Mr Holbrook, "for everywhere."
+
+Something had happened to the motor Esme was going out in--a tyre had
+punctured as it was starting and the chauffeur gave warning of an
+hour's delay. Esme yawned, waiting in the over-heated hall.
+
+Bertie would be home in a week; she would want more wine at cost price
+from her host. Seeing him come out she flashed a friendly smile at him.
+She asked him to send her some.
+
+But Luke Holbrook, who had been glad to help a pretty girl in a tiny
+flat, saw no reason for losing a profit to a woman in magnificent
+sables.
+
+"Want more hock?" he said. "The same as last, eh? Yes, I told you to
+ask me--but it's gone up--gone up, and whisky too, and port.... I'll
+send it on to you. Kind of me. It's my business, pretty lady, my
+business. No bother at all."
+
+Esme did not realize that he meant to charge her full price.
+
+"We've had such a hunt, we came back early." Sybil Chauntsey ran into
+the hall in her habit, young Knox close behind her. Mrs Holbrook
+approved of love. She had asked them together. "Oh, such a run,"
+babbled Sybil. "And my chestnut was glorious, the dear."
+
+"Jimmie always said that the chestnut was his best horse." Mousie
+Cavendish's thin lips curved in a spiteful smile.
+
+Young Knox started, looked at Sybil.
+
+"I thought it was your own horse," he said gravely.
+
+"Captain Gore Helmsley lent him to me for the season. I call him mine.
+I thought that you knew."
+
+"No, I did not." The young soldier seemed to have forgotten his gallop;
+he looked tired and put out.
+
+"The car, madam, is ready." A butler who bore the mark of experience
+stamped upon his impassive face came forward. Esme fastened her coat,
+asked for a companion--Mrs Cavendish would come. Her spiteful tongue
+made light strokes at reputations as the car hummed along. No one
+escaped. No one was immune. She had come to drive to find out who had
+given Esme the coat, for the fair girl had never made herself
+auspicious.
+
+"Met heaps of nice things abroad, I s'pose.... Why didn't you order a
+limousine, Esme? I hate the wind in these open things ... heaps of
+princes, I suppose, and rich potentates, didn't you, in your travels?"
+
+"Heaps," said Esme. "At least we must have seen them sometimes."
+
+"Funniest thing rushing off like that for all these months, so unlike
+Denise Blakeney. It didn't agree with you, Esme; it made you thin, and
+different somehow."
+
+"The climate," Esme said, flushing a little.
+
+"And fancy Denise not coming home for the event, trusting herself to
+foreign doctors and nurses."
+
+"She did not intend to stay," Esme answered. "She meant to be back."
+
+"I saw the son and heir. A great fat thing, fair like Cyril. Well, it
+settles all the difficulties then. Denise doesn't play the _role_ of
+devoted mother; she says the baby bores her."
+
+A sudden wave of anger shook Esme--fear for her child--it might be
+neglected, grow up unloved. Then they stopped at the toy shop at Regis.
+
+"A parcel for Mrs Holbrook," she said to the man. Obsequious assistants
+ran out to the Coombe Regis motors.
+
+A hunting man, still in his splashed pink, stopped them. He, too, was
+full of the great run.
+
+"Coming out to-morrow to Welcombe," he said. "We're all training down."
+
+Esme's face clouded.
+
+"I can't afford it. I owe the man twenty pounds. I've done two days
+this week."
+
+A year ago Esme would have almost expected a horse offered to her.
+Major Jackson had fifteen of them; she had only to look appealing then,
+talked of poverty, and horses came as from the clouds.
+
+Now he too looked at her coat. Its owner could not want help.
+
+"Other engagements," he chaffed lightly. "You're losing your keenness,
+Mrs Carteret. Fact."
+
+Esme turned away ill-humouredly. They drove back to Coombe Regis, the
+open car humming through the cool spring afternoon. Mousie Cavendish
+questioning, surmising, as they went.
+
+The palm court was crowded now, partitions had been knocked away, a
+room thrown in to make it large enough; there was no gathering round
+for tea. Trays were placed on the little glass-topped satinwood tables.
+Hot biscuits and scones were kept hot on electric heaters. The butler
+laid a species of buffet covered with huge iced cakes, and relays of
+sandwiches if the supplies on each tray were not sufficient.
+
+"Only one thing required--cold roast beef and plum pudding," Mousie
+said ill-naturedly, as she looked at it. The tea-pots were all silver
+gilt, the little piles of cakes and sandwiches rested on real lace. In
+the drawing-room Mrs Holbrook gathered her dullest guests at a table,
+where she poured out tea herself, away from the more clouded atmosphere
+of the hall.
+
+Several expensive toy dogs sat about on the blue and gold brocade and
+ate scraps of cake merely to oblige the guests.
+
+They dined off minced chicken and fillet of beef, and breakfasted off
+cream and grape nuts. Mr Holbrook liked them because he had paid three
+hundred for Li Chi the pug, and two for Holboin Santoi the pomeranian.
+
+"Luke," said Mrs Holbrook, taking her second cup of chilly tea. "Luke,
+I think we could do it; the Duchess may never know who she is."
+
+"Do you really, my love?" said Holbrook, briskly. "Then I'll write to
+her manager and to her, enclosing a note from you. She will go so well
+with the bulbs--Critennery must be pleased."
+
+Esme had found a pile of letters waiting for her, long envelopes
+containing accounts rendered. She did not know where her money had gone
+to. Nothing seemed paid for.
+
+She was going to her room, walking on carpets so thick that her feet
+sank into them, with all the silence of riches round her, doors which
+opened and shut noiselessly, deadened footsteps, when she stopped
+startled.
+
+"Ah, Madame!" Marie, her late maid, smiled at her. "Ah, Madame." Marie
+was enchanted. She had regretted so that Madame had been obliged to
+part with her.
+
+"I am with Milady Goold, Madame, and I see Madame has not been well;
+she is looking delicate, then."
+
+"It was Italy." Esme was nervous before the Frenchwoman, whose brown
+eyes looked at her with a curious shrewdness.
+
+"Madame had much travelling with Milady Blakeney? I have been to
+Reggio, Madame; I have a cousin there."
+
+Esme turned swiftly to her door to hide her white cheeks. She recovered
+in a moment. Even if Marie did write or go there, there was nothing to
+find out. "Yes--it's a dull place, Marie," she said. "And when you're
+out of a place come back to me. Watson cannot do hair, Marie."
+
+Marie went away smiling--a curious little smile. "There was something
+curious in all that," she said softly. "Something, but yes,
+strange--and one day I, Marie, will find it out."
+
+The races were to be on Tuesday. Saturday saw Coombe Regis with every
+room full. The Cabinet minister felt himself over-honoured in one of
+the huge state rooms, where the old carved bedstead had been left, and
+all the electric lights did not seem to dispel the shadows.
+
+"Kind of thing queens died in," said the minister as he took a long
+walk from his bed to the dressing-table.
+
+The Duchess occupied another vast chamber, made incongruously modern by
+a low bedstead representing a lily, and bought for a fabulous sum from
+France. "Absurd," said Her Grace, as she poked into the down pillows
+and lace-edged sheets arrayed among the inlaid petals. "Also it can't
+have proper springs."
+
+Her Grace of Dullshire was a large lady of philanthropic tendencies.
+She kept a herd of prize cows which she sold to her friends for large
+sums, and prize hens, and she knew a horse when she saw one, so had
+come for the races. She also liked bridge, when she won. The Duchess
+was a leader of society, one fully aware of the fact. Her deep voice
+had power to slide an ambitious clamberer back over the edge of the
+cliff which she had scaled with difficulty. To be asked to Dullengla
+Court, where one dined off beef soup, boiled cod, roast mutton, cabbage
+or turnips, and rice moulds, was to be marked as with an order. The
+Duke never visited, and the Marquis of Boredom, their son, had so far
+not been allowed to marry. He had, greatly against his will, been
+included in this house-party, it being an unfortunate fact that his
+taste was for attractive ladies on the stage. "I would allow you to
+marry Lady Sukey Ploddy," said his mother when they got to the door of
+Coombe Regis; "she will be here." The palm court was brilliant
+to-night. Shaded lights glowed through the artificial leaves, showing
+chiffons and satins, laces and silks, and the black-and-white dinner
+armour of mankind. Rare jewels flashed, faint scents made the air
+fragrant.
+
+The Cabinet minister, coming down just before dinner, stood on the
+Duchess's toe in his surprise at catching sight of a dark moving face
+and a supple, slight form.
+
+"Mavis," said the minister, blankly.... "Oh, so sorry, Duchess. I hope
+it didn't hurt. Did Homburg last year, y'know. Now if it had been
+before that...."
+
+The Duchess's hop to a chair shook the palm court. Her only son, coming
+down in almost painfully well-made clothes, was confiding his woes to a
+friend. "Absolutely rotten bein' caught for it. Scarcely a girl to
+speak to, and if there is she'll be off with some Johnny she knew
+before. Nothin' but Ploddys and that spiteful Cavendish, and oh, hang,
+rot all round, y'know. Yes, mamma."
+
+"Who?" said the Duchess, "who, Francis, is that nice-looking girl in
+black?"
+
+"Gracious!" said Lord Boredom. "Lord! it isn't," he paused ... "her
+name is Moover, mother," he said blandly--"Moover."
+
+"American," summed up the Duchess, accepting her host's arm. Mrs
+Holbrook sorted the vast party every evening and paired them off for
+dinner.
+
+Lord Boredom received Lady Sukey Ploddy's substantial hand upon his
+coat sleeve, and intelligently remarked, "Eh oh, Imagin," when she told
+him she was looking forward to the races.
+
+The minister took in his hostess, and found the dancer at their table
+for four. "I like this," said Miss Moover contentedly, taking caviare.
+"Nice of 'em to ask me, wasn't it? Old Luke--"
+
+"That's your hostess," said the minister, hurriedly. The magnificence
+of dinner descended upon them and the food. One reached for fish
+beneath a truffle-spangled vest of sauce; one poked at a snowy tower
+and found that upon the menu it was harmless chicken in disguise. If
+the cook did not earn her salary by spending money on elaboration she
+would be speedily replaced.
+
+Gay voices, light laughter, rang up to the vaulted roof. Armies of
+powdered footmen moved deftly among the tables. The celebrated Holbrook
+wines were poured out lavishly.
+
+One finished with bad coffee and took choice of a dozen liqueurs, the
+blue haze of smoke floating around the heated air. Huge golden boxes,
+initialled and becrested, stood on the tables, filled with cigars and
+cigarettes; the butler, faintly proud of so much wasted money, stood
+for a moment before he left. Red bars gleamed along the shining
+mahogany from the rich ruby of the port.
+
+The dull people drifted away with their hostess to the drawing-room to
+read and work and gossip, but the Duchess lingered in the palm court
+waiting for her son.
+
+"A very nice-looking girl," said Her Grace. "Miss Moover, I think I
+have seen you somewhere."
+
+"Perhaps," said Mavis, civilly. "Perhaps, Duchess."
+
+Lord Boredom, who had quite woke up, sniggered softly; for the rest of
+the evening the Cabinet minister, who was a philosopher, realized the
+power of youth over mere prestige as he watched the Marquis of Boredom
+devote himself to a demure-looking girl in black, with the manifest
+approval of his mother.
+
+A gentle feeler to Miss Moover, whose real name was Harris, had
+resulted in a frank avowal from that young lady that at present her
+income was several hundreds a week. "And all my own," said Mavis, a
+little sadly, for she had come to London to work for a mother who had
+died before her daughter grew famous.
+
+There were a dozen little dramas played out under the high
+roof--comedy, tragedy, drama, to each its caste, its players and its
+audience.
+
+Young Oliver Knox's bright face had lost its gaiety. He was a mere
+everyday soldier, awkward of speech because he loved deeply and pitted
+against Gore Helmsley, who woke to the game because there was a new
+chance of losing it. With his black eyes full of the admiration he knew
+how to throw into them, his words laden with subtle compliment, he
+followed pretty Sybil, slipped her away from her fretting lover, took
+her to play bridge, and praised her mistakes as flashes of genius.
+
+The girl was flustered as she found herself playing against Mrs
+Cavendish and Dolly Frensham, two gamblers of repute. She saw the
+scores added and settled, heard Jimmie say carelessly that she could
+settle with him next day, and scarcely knew what she had lost. Esme
+flashed careless answer to Gore Helmsley's cool greeting; he had done
+with her, and yet his coolness hurt. Comedy was played in the palm
+court, played next day after breakfast, with Miss Mavis Moover as its
+heroine. The Duchess was quite charmed with her, accepting certain
+little frivolities as merely transatlantic. Mavis displayed a worthy
+interest in cows, and was not averse to philanthropy. "You'd be happy
+in a simple country place," said the Duchess, referring to the vast
+house with at least ten sitting-rooms, in three of which they camped
+out.
+
+"I think so," said Mavis, quietly. "I guess so, if I liked the people."
+
+"My love," said Luke Holbrook on Monday morning. "It hasn't quite
+worked, my love. I fear our hope in the Cabinet has not had the time we
+intended him to. I fear that nosey boy of the Duchess's has put his
+foot in the pie," said Luke, sadly.
+
+"Luke!" said his wife.
+
+"Fallen into the dish. All the same, my love. Critennery is leaving
+to-day."
+
+"He can travel by the same train as his fancy," said Mrs Holbrook,
+placidly.
+
+The great man, urbanely gracious, came to make his adieux. Holbrook
+looked at him apologetically. "You will travel up then with Miss
+Moover," said Mrs Holbrook, brightly; "she leaves this morning."
+
+The Cabinet minister drew on his grey gloves carefully, then adjusted
+the fingers slowly.
+
+"Lord Boredom," he said, "is motoring Miss Moover to Town just in time
+for her performance. Good-bye again. So many thanks for a charming
+visit." He turned to his host with a smile. "Come to me directly you
+come up," he said. "If you want that baronetcy."
+
+"In the outside lot again," said Holbrook, lugubriously. "But he's a
+good sort, he may understand, my love."
+
+The races played their part. Gore Helmsley, a splendid rider, won
+easily, cantering in five lengths in front, his long figure looking its
+best on horseback, his dark face glowed when he rode. Young Knox's
+horse fell; the boy came in muddy, shaken, sad in mind, because it was
+a jostle with his rival which had knocked him down.
+
+Sybil gathered some gold gaily. Jimmy had put a tenner on for her. With
+a girl's folly she feasted her eyes on tinsel, turning away from the
+duller mint of hall-marked gold. Here the curtains might fall on a
+tragedy, fall hurriedly, for the chief actress would have to smile and
+call it comedy to her audience if she was ever to appear again on
+Society's stage.
+
+Sybil came laughing to one of the smaller sitting-rooms that evening, a
+room warm, softly lighted, one ordered as one chose at Coombe Regis.
+She was having tea then with Gore Helmsley.
+
+"No one will look for us here," he had said as he rang the bell. "Let's
+have a quiet half-hour. Talk to me, little pal, I'm tired."
+
+Over the indifferent tea, poured out of a gilt teapot, Sybil smiled
+gaily, held out her day's winnings--twenty pounds.
+
+"See, I owe you money for bridge, for two nights. Take it. I hope
+there's enough to pay. I did play stupidly."
+
+Jimmie pushed back the pile of gold. "My dear, you lost eighty pounds.
+What does it matter--that can stand over. I paid the Cavendish for you;
+she's a cat and would talk."
+
+Sybil cried out, frightened and astonished. Eighty pounds! and besides
+that she had played in a lady's four and lost another ten. Her mother
+was not rich; she could not pay easily.
+
+"Keep your pennies," he mocked in lordly tones. "Some day you'll pay
+me. I am glad to help a little pal." Jimmie meant the payment to be a
+high one, with interest. He was a merciless human hawk, poising long,
+swift to strike at the last. "We played sixpennies, you see."
+
+"I never dreamt," Sybil faltered; "I thought it was pennies here."
+
+When you owe a man eighty pounds, when he has paid rather than have you
+cornered, it would be churlish to spring aside, a prude, if he kisses
+you softly before you part. If he pulls you to the arm of his chair and
+keeps you there, holding two small chill hands, it is surely all in
+good friendship.
+
+Sybil went away with some of the careless youth wiped from her fresh
+face, with trouble and perplexity in her frank eyes; the big dark man
+fascinated her, knew how to make her feel a little queen, how to bring
+the hot blood to her cheeks, but to-night she was half afraid. His
+little pal! She'd cured his headache--been a brick to stay with him.
+Instead of playing bridge to-night they'd play piquet in a quiet
+corner, he whispered.
+
+"You didn't come to tea." Oliver Knox came straight to Sybil in the
+hall, his face ill-humoured. "I was watching for you."
+
+"No, I was tired," she said, blushing a little.
+
+"And Gore Helmsley did not come--our black Adonis, Miss
+Chauntsey--can't you see through the man?"
+
+A foolish speech uttered by foolishly, honestly loving youth. Sybil
+tossed her head angrily and walked away offended.
+
+"Coming to play to-night?" Mousie Cavendish asked her.
+
+Sybil's lips drooped.
+
+"I don't think so. I've lost such a lot. You play too high for me."
+
+"Pooh! What matter. Jimmie doesn't mind. He's full of money now after
+the race."
+
+"I've lost such a lot," Sybil repeated, forgetting that she was angry
+with Oliver Knox, turning to him in her trouble, missing the meaning in
+the woman's words.
+
+"You ought not to play with that crowd. Mrs Cavendish is the best
+player in London--the quickest to read a face, I'll bet. It's madness,
+folly."
+
+Another foolish speech. Sybil went off to change. This drama was being
+played quickly. The girl was stirred, flattered; awakened nature made
+her a lute too easily played on by a practised hand. She shrank from
+decision, from promising to marry a soldier of slender fortune, and she
+knew that decision was near. That night, after dinner, her young lover
+followed her, took her, almost against her will, away from the others
+to the library, with its rows of richly-bound volumes, its sombre
+magnificence.
+
+"Sybil"--the boy's face was white. He was too moved for eloquence.
+"Sybil, you know I love you. I can't stand by and see that other fellow
+follow you, as he has followed others. Making you--you remarkable.
+Sybil, I'm not rich, but I love you, marry me--I'll make you happy."
+
+And--she was not sure--for a moment she felt his arms close round her
+and dreamt of peace and sheltered love, then again she was not sure,
+she said so faltering. Give her time ... she muttered.
+
+"Sybil, I can't wait. It's life or death to me. Give the fellow up.
+Give him back his horse. I'll hire you one. Go, tell him now. It
+maddens me to see you ride the brute."
+
+Give back the horse, and to-morrow she was to ride the perfect chestnut
+at the meet. Next day they were going back to London, they were dining
+with Jimmie, motoring with him. "I'll tell you"--Sybil
+faltered--"later--I don't know."
+
+An anxious lover is always a fool. He would have no delay, he must
+know. It was a choice--a challenge to fate. If she took him it must be
+altogether. She was too young to understand. Sybil was tortured by
+indecision. How, owing eighty pounds, could she go to her friend and
+say, I will not ride your horse--I will not dine with you. How could
+she hurt him?
+
+"Sybil, I thought you cared," a hoarse voice roused her.
+
+"I believe I do. Oh, Oliver, give me time."
+
+"No!" he was going away, leaving next morning. "I cannot share you,
+Sybil. Oh, friendship. Don't prate of that to me, but, if you want me,
+send for me. If I can ever help, write or wire. I'll go on loving you
+as long as I'm alive. As you don't care enough I can go."
+
+He flung out bruised and hurt.
+
+Was it chance or design which had made Jimmie Gore Helmsley talk that
+day of the worries of a soldier's life?
+
+"Kicked about, never enough money, poky houses, a rattling two-seater,
+or a dogcart, a dog's life for a pretty woman," Jimmie had said
+lightly. "Stuck in some wretched country town or in some big station
+where the dust reeks of the army. I've pitied so many girls who have
+married soldiers. Think of your beauty now thrown away." And all the
+time as young Knox pleaded Sybil had recalled these words.
+
+Esme went back to London next day, back to her little flat.
+
+A bleak wind swept along the streets, dark clouds raced across the sky.
+It was dreary, intensely cold, the flat was poky, its cosiness seemed
+to have deserted it, it had become a tawdry box. The furniture looked
+shabby, worn, the tenants had been careless. Esme stood discontentedly
+pulling at her cushions, petulantly moving back china to old places.
+Her servants were new, inclined to be lazy. The cook looked blankly
+unenthusiastic as to lunch.
+
+"Couldn't possibly have all that in time to-day, mem. They'd send round
+something from Harrod's, no doubt."
+
+Esme lunched ill-humouredly off galantine and tinned peas. She thought
+of the big houses she had been in; they must move, take a little house.
+This place was out of the way, inconvenient. She ordered flowers
+recklessly, telephoned to Denise inviting herself to dinner.
+
+The butler answered. "Yes, her ladyship would be dining in, he would
+ask." There was a long pause, then an answer. "Her ladyship would be
+pleased to see Mrs Carteret at eight."
+
+"She might have spoken herself," said Esme, angrily.
+
+The afternoon dragged wearily. Esme drove to one of the big shops,
+ordering new cushions, new coverings, but languidly; she meant to leave
+the flat and took no real interest in it.
+
+She went early to the Blakeneys. Denise was not dressed. No message
+came asking her to go to her friend's room. Esme had to learn that an
+obligation creates constraint, as the person we owe money to, however
+generously given, is never a welcome guest.
+
+But Esme left the pretty drawing-room. Its spaciousness made her
+envious, she stepped past Denise's room to the upper landings. Here Mrs
+Stanson was just coming to her supper. A little lightly-breathing thing
+lay asleep in his cot.
+
+"But, nurse, he's pale, isn't he, thin?" Esme whispered.
+
+"He caught a cold, Mrs Carteret. Oh, nothing. I feared croup, but it
+passed. It's a trying month, you see, for tiny children."
+
+Lightly, so softly that the baby never stirred, Esme stooped to kiss
+him, stood looking down at the child which ought to have been sleeping
+in the spare room at the flat.
+
+But he would have been a nuisance there, an inconvenience, she told
+herself insistently.
+
+Then fear tore at her heart. What if the child should die. "Be good to
+him," she whispered, slipping a sovereign into Mrs Stanson's hand. "Be
+good to him, Mrs Stanson."
+
+She got down before Denise did. Felt the want of warmth in her
+hostess's greeting. Denise was splendidly gowned, gay, merry, looking
+younger, happier. Sir Cyril's eyes followed his wife, contentment
+visible in their look.
+
+"My dear Esme, delighted, of _course_. When you are alone always come
+here. We've only a four for bridge--Susie and her husband. You can cut
+in."
+
+"I'll look on." Esme felt that she was not wanted, she was odd man out.
+She flushed unhappily.
+
+Denise was full of plans, each one including Cyril now. She talked
+lightly of that boy Jerry. She was completely the happy wife, confident
+in her position.
+
+"And the boy. He's had a cold," Esme said.
+
+"A cold has he? I think I heard him sniff?"
+
+"Yes, he's had a cold," Sir Cyril said. "He was quite feverish. Denise
+is not a nursery bird, I fear."
+
+"And you've been dining off gold plate at the Holbrooks, Esme. I
+wouldn't go. Cyril and I went for a few last days with the Quorn. Cyril
+bought me such a lovely mare, all quality. Ah, here is Sue." Lady Susan
+Almorni was not a friend of Esme's. Denise seemed to be leaving her
+smart friends, to be settling among the duller, greater people.
+
+"Bertie will be home to-morrow. I want to leave the flat, to come more
+west. It's poky, horribly stuffy. If--we could afford to." Esme
+crumbled her toast, looked almost sullenly at Denise.
+
+"But could you? And it's such a dear little flat. Could you afford it,
+Esme dear? You are so comfy there."
+
+The butler brought in the evening papers. Before they settled to play
+bridge Sir Cyril opened them.
+
+"Why, Mrs Carteret," he said, "this is awful about your cousins surely.
+The two Carteret boys have both been killed in a motor accident. It
+makes Bertie heir, I suppose, but what a tragedy."
+
+Esme caught at the paper and read it feverishly. "To the title," she
+said. "It's entailed. Hugh Carteret can leave his money as he
+chooses--unless we have children." But she knew what a difference it
+must make.
+
+"You'll have to follow my example and have an heir now," laughed
+Denise. "To make it all certain. Eh, Esme?"
+
+Esme sat with the paper in her hands and did not answer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+Spring rioting, chill and bleak, crushing the coming summer in its
+impish hands. A day when cold came creeping under doors, sat even by
+the fire and would not be denied.
+
+Looking into her draped glass Esme was struck by new lines in her face,
+by a loss of her dazzling youth, by a tired look in her eyes.
+Discontent, weariness, were writing their names on her skin.
+
+Bertie would be home early. She had been lazy and not gone to the ship
+to meet him. He was coming to breakfast, the fires were smouldering in
+the sitting-room, the new housemaid reasonably desirous of "gaus."
+Esme, in her prettiest wrapper, shivered and grew irritable. She had
+ordered an elaborate breakfast, but the new cook was a failure; the
+fish was sodden, the bacon half raw, the hot bread mere heated bakers'
+scones.
+
+Esme recalled the breakfasts at Coombe Regis, at Harlands. She flung
+out at the maids. Ordered new dishes angrily. Oh, it was hateful not to
+have things right. Her old gaiety had left her. She would have laughed
+a year ago and boiled eggs on a spirit lamp. Bertie at last, running
+up, catching her in his arms, holding her close.
+
+"Esme, my dear old butterfly. My sweetheart. Oh, it's good to be back
+again here with you. Breakfast, Es, I'm starving."
+
+So big and boyish and loving. She clung to him and found discontent
+even there. She had cheated her man. There was a secret to be hidden
+from him for ever. And where were all the comforts she had dreamt of
+with her income? Where were they?
+
+"Breakfast." Esme rang the bell.
+
+"Cook is grilling the bacon, mem. It will take ten minutes." So Bertie
+had to wait, and then eat cold eggs and burnt bacon, and drink stewed
+tea. But he was happy.
+
+"Extravagance," he said. "My silken-winged butterfly, that's a new gown
+of fluff and laces."
+
+"You don't expect me to have all last year's, do you?" Esme almost
+snapped, then leant against him. He held her closely, loving the warm
+suppleness of her body, the scent of her burnished hair, his lips were
+hot on the satin smoothness of her skin.
+
+"But, Es sweetheart, you're thinner," he whispered, "and looking sadly.
+We'll have a week away, just you and I, in Paris. You must be rich now
+with no house all this winter."
+
+Esme slipped away from him and fidgeted as she lighted a cigarette.
+
+"Oh, Bertie, you've seen about the accident. You're heir now."
+
+"The place is entailed," he said. "It's worth nothing. But the old
+man's money is his own. He may leave it to me. If we had a boy he
+might, no doubt he would."
+
+Esme flushed scarlet, turning away. The cold day grew colder. Try as
+she would, the old happy intimacy, their careless happy youth, would
+not come back. Before, she had told Bertie everything. Now if he knew,
+if he knew.
+
+Her husband seemed to have grown older, graver, to be less boyish. He
+talked of one or two things as extravagant. They discussed Aldershot
+and he spoke of lodgings. Houses were impossible there.
+
+Esme grew petulant. Lodgings, she had seen them. Chops for dinner and
+cold meat and salad for lunch. They must find a house. They'd heaps of
+money.
+
+They went out to luncheon, telephoned a table at the Berkeley, ordered
+their favourite dishes recklessly. Esme came down in the Paris coat,
+open to show the blue and silver lining.
+
+"Butterfly! What a coat," her husband exclaimed at its beauty. "Where
+did you get it?"
+
+Esme hesitated, told half the truth.
+
+"Denise gave it to me," she said slowly. "You see I did a lot for her."
+
+Bertie was his old self then, foolishly merry. They must go up Bond
+Street and order a limousine to go with the coat. It couldn't sit in
+taxis. When it was off in the restaurant he saw the cunning beauty of a
+Paris frock, a black one, the old pendant of emeralds gleaming against
+real lace.
+
+It was too cold, too bitter to walk about. They rang up friends, played
+bridge. Esme ordered dinner at the flat, asked Dolly to come down and
+bring a man, then telephoned imperiously to the new cook.
+
+"Dinner for four, order what you want. It must be nice, remember. It
+must be. Get some forced things, sweets, have salmon. Use your wits."
+
+"It is a dear little hole. I'll be sorry to leave it," Bertie said, as
+they came back to the brightly-lighted little drawing-room. "Why do you
+want to, girlie?"
+
+"It's so out of the way," Esme grumbled.
+
+The new maid put her into a dress of clinging black. One must mourn for
+first cousins.
+
+Dolly was full of curiosity. Bertie was heir now. It was quite a
+change. "So nice, dear Esme, to come to one of your wonderful little
+dinners again."
+
+The only wonder of this dinner was its expense. The new cook had gone
+to Harrod's stores, chosen everything which cost money. Tinned turtle
+soup, plain boiled salmon, tinned and truffled entree, tinned chicken,
+and a bought sweet.
+
+Esme grew angrier as it went on. Hated the guests' lack of appetite,
+their polite declaimers as she abused her food.
+
+"I begin to hate this place," Esme stormed to Dolly. "It's too small,
+good servants won't come here. Hardness was a good chance. She's gone
+to Denise Blakeney now, she can afford to pay her what she wanted, I
+couldn't."
+
+Cards too went against Esme. She lost and lost again, made declarations
+which depended on luck, and found it desert her. They did not play for
+high points, but she made side bets, and it mounted up. She cut with
+Bertie, saw his eyebrows raise as she went a reckless no trumper.
+
+"My dear, what had you got?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, a king and ace. I expected something above a ten from you, Bertie."
+
+The Midshires were coming to Aldershot at once. Esme had never been
+with the regiment. She did not want to leave London. She coaxed Bertie
+next day. Why not wait for another adjutancy, leave her in the flat, he
+could come up so often.
+
+But the very weapons she used turned against her, the caress of her
+lips, her clinging arms were not things to leave. No, she must come to
+Aldershot. They would find a house and be happy there.
+
+"And the bills, sweetheart?" Bertie Carteret had always seen to them.
+"I suppose you paid up all the old ones so we'll start fresh."
+
+Esme had forgotten her bills. She was irritable over money, cried out
+that her husband had learnt miser's thoughts in South Africa. "You fell
+in love with a good housewife there, Bert," she mocked, "who fried the
+cold potatoes of overnight for breakfast. Come, confess.... We've heaps
+of money to be foolish on, don't bother."
+
+"There was never a penny left over," he said. "If we were sick, or if,
+well, anything happened we had no margin." Esme frowned sullenly.
+
+Two hours later she was rung up at her club.
+
+"Esme, I've seen Uncle Hugh, he wired for me. He is going to live in
+London, and he wants to make arrangements. Meet me at once. Where? Oh,
+the Carlton will do."
+
+Erratically dreaming of riches Esme left a game of bridge and flew off
+to the big restaurant. It was crowded for tea-time, people gathering at
+the little tables. The cold air called for furs. Their rich softness
+was everywhere, and among them all Esme felt her coat attracted
+admiring eyes. Over her black dress, the blue lining brilliant over the
+dark, with her hair massed against a dead black hat, Esme was
+remarkable.
+
+"An actress?" she heard a woman ask. What Esme would call a stodgy
+woman, expensively dressed, a country cousin with a London friend.
+
+"No, a Mrs Carteret, remarkable-looking, isn't she?"
+
+"Well, Bertie. _What_ is it?" Esme could scarcely wait as her husband
+ordered tea. "What has Uncle Hugh done?"
+
+"Well, nothing. It is all for your approval, but Uncle Hugh is lonely.
+He wants his nephew to live near him. There is a great deal of business
+to see to. The Seaford estate and the Devonshire place, he farmed both.
+Uncle Hugh found the journeying trying." Briefly, he offered to pay
+Bertie the same pay as he had drawn from the Army, together with
+travelling expenses, if he would stay in London and go down to these
+places when necessary. No more.
+
+"He hasn't promised to leave you the money then?" Esme asked. "Oh, it
+suits me splendidly, I hated leaving town."
+
+"No." Bertie Carteret shook his head. "He has promised me nothing,
+merely that I shall not lose through leaving the Army, nothing more."
+
+Esme grew angry then, abused the rich old man, forgot his trouble in
+her annoyance.
+
+"He has so much. Why should we starve now when we are young?" she
+flashed.
+
+"We have never quite starved, Es." Bertie Carteret laughed, then looked
+grave. "I thought we were so comfortable, so happy."
+
+"One seems to want more and more as one lives in town." Esme looked
+sullen. She too had thought the same, less than a year ago. Been so
+sure of it that she hated the thought of the third being who would have
+disturbed their peace. And now with so much more money she seemed
+poorer.
+
+"That is a wonderful coat." Bertie looked admiringly at his wife.
+"You're wonderful altogether, Esme, this time. With the stamp of Paris
+on your frocks. But of course Denise gave you heaps of things. You did
+a lot for her."
+
+Esme began to plan, to grow brighter. "We must take a little house,
+Bertie, get away from that box, nearer our friends."
+
+"But we shall be no better off," he said.
+
+"Oh, you must get money out of the old man. We'll save the rent on
+taxis. Who is it, Bertie?"
+
+For Bertie had jumped up and was shaking hands with a slim girl of
+about twenty. Brown-haired, grey-eyed, pretty in a quiet way.
+
+"It's Miss Reynolds," he said. "Miss Reynolds, Esme. Mrs Reynolds was
+so kind to me at Pretoria when I was ill."
+
+"Ill!" Esme held out a jewelled hand. "I thought it was only repentance
+and indigestion."
+
+"It was fever." Estelle Reynolds's voice was slow and musical, restful
+as her gentle face. "Captain Carteret was very ill, and my uncle tried
+to cure him."
+
+"No idea," said Esme. "I'd no idea. But so good of you.... Bertie, you
+should have told me." She was honestly fond of her husband.
+
+"He did not want to worry you," said Estelle Reynolds.
+
+Carteret was impressively glad to see Estelle. He talked eagerly of a
+dinner, a theatre.
+
+His eagerness vexed his wife. She got up, dazzlingly handsome in her
+furs, the emeralds gleaming on her black gown.
+
+"So sorry, Bertie, but this week is quite full, every day. Come to
+luncheon on Sunday, Miss Reynolds. I'll have some people to meet you."
+
+Estelle laughed pleasantly. "My Sunday will be a country cousin's," she
+said. "Church, a very short luncheon, and the Albert Hall. You see,
+I've never been to London before." The girl looked a little hurt, a
+little snubbed.
+
+"And I said I'd show it to you." Carteret let his wife walk on. "I'm
+not engaged. Let me take you and your aunt to Daly's to-night and on to
+the Savoy."
+
+"Comic opera." Estelle shook her brown head. "If it might be the
+Shakespearian piece at His Majesty's. I should love to come."
+
+It did not seem to suggest itself to Estelle to ask if Bertie
+Carteret's wife might wish to include him in her engagements. Esme was
+one of those women who seem to stand alone.
+
+"Very well then. I'll get seats at once," he said.
+
+Making his way past little tables to the passage down the centre of the
+restaurant, Bertie stood for a moment looking from one woman to another.
+
+Estelle Reynolds had gone back to her tea. She was not remarkable in
+any way, merely a rather dowdy girl sitting alone at a little table.
+Esme had stopped to speak to friends near the door. She was brilliantly
+handsome, flashing out gay smiles, the mirthless smile of society, and
+splendidly dressed. As it grew thinner her face gave promise of
+hardness; she had replaced her lost colour very cunningly with some
+rose bloom. Carteret followed her slowly. He loved his wife, her touch,
+a look from her blue eyes always had power to move him, but he realized
+suddenly that she was too brilliant, too well-dressed for a
+foot-soldier's wife.
+
+She was talking to Luke Holbrook, smiling at him, but the smile had
+lost its girlish charm; the kindly man who had been willing to help a
+young couple not well off had no idea of losing money to this brilliant
+woman.
+
+Holbrook was always simply open as to his trade.
+
+"I didn't forget your bundle of wines, fairest lady, they went on
+to-day." Mr Holbrook started and put up his glasses. "My love," he
+said, turning to his wife, "I see Lord Boredom taking tea with Miss
+Moover, and Mr Critennery is over there alone. My love, I fear I did
+not advance our interests by that most unfortunate invitation."
+
+"The Duchess," said Mrs Holbrook, "will have a stroke. No one ever
+broke Miss Mavis Moover's occupation to her Grace."
+
+"Ready, Esme? You want a taxi back. Very well." Carteret went to the
+door. Before he had gone away Esme had been quite content to take the
+motor 'bus which set them nearly at their door, or to go by tube. He
+sighed a little as he feed the gigantic person who hailed the cab for
+him.
+
+"They've either come into some money, my love, or it is the Italian
+Prince whom Dollie Cavendish hints at," said Luke Holbrook,
+thoughtfully.
+
+"What a dowdy little friend," yawned Esme as they sped down Piccadilly.
+"What clothes, Bertie. I could only ask her to a frumpy luncheon."
+
+"They were very good to me out there," he said quickly. "And ... I did
+not notice Miss Reynolds's dowdiness."
+
+"No, one wouldn't. She is the kind of thing who goes with dowdiness.
+All flat hair and plaintive eyes." Esme laughed. "Is she the good
+housekeeper who made you careful, Bertie? Eh?"
+
+He looked out without answering. Something was coming between him and
+his wife. A rift, opening slowly in the groundwork of their love and
+happiness. She had changed.
+
+Carteret's papers went in. They settled in London. Esme looked for a
+house, fretting because she could not find one they could afford. Esme
+often fretted as cold March was pushed away by April. She was restless,
+never quiet, unable to spend an hour at home by herself. Everything
+seemed to cost more than it had. People gave up the little kindnesses
+which she had counted. She was not paid for at theatres, nor sent
+flowers and fruit.
+
+"The Carterets must have come into money," people said carelessly.
+"Esme's simply gorgeously clothed, and they're looking for a house. Of
+course he's heir to old Hugh's place now."
+
+More than once Bertie included Estelle Reynolds in their parties. She
+came, enjoying everything almost childishly; never tired of looking at
+the London streets with their roaring traffic. Hanging on every word at
+theatres, openly delighted with the dishes at smart restaurants.
+
+"Everyone is so rich here," said Estelle in wonder. "They pay and pay
+and pay all round us."
+
+They were lunching at Jules, and Esme had carelessly ordered one or two
+things out of season. Estelle had watched the gold coins put on the
+folded bill.
+
+"You would not be so extravagant, I imagine," Esme laughed. She neither
+liked nor disliked the quiet girl, even found her useful now to do
+forgotten errands at the shops, to write her letters for her while Esme
+lounged back smoking, to go off in the rain for a book which must be
+read immediately. For, wanting anything, Esme could never wait. She
+snapped at her share of life, to fling it away barely tasted. Estelle
+came oftener and oftener to the flat. Settled flowers, put out sweets
+for dinner, had the bridge tables ready, and then went away. She was
+always useful, always willing to help.
+
+"Extravagant!" Estelle answered. "No, I'd lunch at home."
+
+"Off chops and fried potatoes," said Esme, taking asparagus.
+
+"If you go to the Club mankind invariably lunches off chops and steak,"
+broke in Bertie. "Women are the lovers of fluffy dishes; they please
+'em, I suppose, as new dresses do, because poor people can't have them."
+
+"Estelle would lunch at home," laughed Esme, "and go in a 'bus to see
+the shops in Regent Street, or perhaps to the National Gallery or the
+White City, and come home to make a new savoury which she had seen in
+_Home Instructions_, and do her accounts after dinner. Eh, little home
+bird?"
+
+"Yes," said Estelle, simply. "Only I wouldn't live in London at all. I
+would make the country my stable meal, my chops and fried potatoes, and
+London my occasional savoury _bonne bouche_. I should choke in a town."
+
+Esme laughed. "How absurd," she flashed out. "Now, be good children. I
+go to sell pieces of cloth at completely ruinous prices to aid
+something in distress. I know not what."
+
+"Shall I take you home, Estelle?" Carteret stood looking out into the
+sunshine. "Lord, what I'd give to live in the country. To see green
+fields all round and have a horse or two in the winter, and laze over a
+big log fire when the day was done. But somehow, here, there is never
+an hour to laze in."
+
+Hugh Carteret, grief stricken, had so far not seen his nephew's wife.
+Bertie was doing his work, going down occasionally to see the big
+places and look over the accounts with the stewards.
+
+About a month after he had come back from South Africa, Esme's first
+reckoning for extravagance was upon her. Unpaid accounts littered the
+table. Harrod's deposit was overdrawn. She sat frowning and petulant,
+as Bertie jotted down totals.
+
+"We can't do it, Esme; there are all the old bills left unpaid. We
+managed so well before."
+
+Esme smoked furiously, flung the thin papers about. People were
+robbers, her cook a fool.
+
+"But we are not often in. You weren't even at home. It's beyond one,
+Butterfly; debt won't do. And then your frocks and frills."
+
+"I can pay for those," Esme was going to say, then stopped. How much of
+her five hundred, her scant allowance, had she anticipated. Then there
+would be a visit to Scotland, and she wanted to hunt. She could not
+spare much of it; fifty of it must go to the French dressmaker, another
+fifty to a jeweller. "Oh, it's sickening," she flung out in sudden
+petulant anger. "Sickening. Poverty is too hateful."
+
+Bertie had to listen to an outburst of grumbling, of fretful wrath,
+because their income was not double its size. To be pinched, cramped
+when one was young, to be worried by bills, bothered by meannesses.
+
+Bertie Carteret's face grew pale. He stood up, gathering the bills. "I
+had no idea that you were unhappy, Es," he said slowly. "We used to
+manage so well before I left. It was all sunshine then. I have some
+money I can dig out; we'll pay the bills and start again. Give me all
+yours to see."
+
+Indulgence made Esme penitent, almost grateful. That was right. Now
+Bertie was a dear, a sweet old boy. And they'd have a lovely summer,
+just as last year's had been.
+
+She came over and sat on Bertie's knee, her face pressed against his,
+the perfume of her golden hair in his nostrils.
+
+But with her soft arm about his neck, her supple body in his arms,
+Bertie Carteret did not hold her closer; she missed his quick sigh at
+her contact, the hotness of his kisses on her neck.
+
+"Bertie, dear old Bert."
+
+But as she moved her face a little he could see between him and the
+light the skilfully-applied red on her cheeks, the coating of powder
+round it. It was not love for him which brought her to him, but selfish
+relief at being released from worry. "Poor Butterfly," he said, kissing
+her gently. "It shall flutter through its summer. But spent capital
+means less income, Esme, remember that."
+
+"Oh, here's the wine account." He sighed again, looking at it. Esme ran
+her finger down the items, there were no wholesale prices now. The hock
+was at its full value, the bill a heavy one. Jumping up, she railed at
+Luke Holbrook, called him traitor and mean and treacherous. Swore that
+if she could help it he would not get his peerage.
+
+"The lilies and carnations, madam," said the tall maid, coming in with
+a bundle of flowers.
+
+"Leave them there, Miss Reynolds will settle them for me, she is coming
+to lunch. And your Uncle Hugh, Bertie, I had forgotten."
+
+"You'll have to take to cheaper flowers," said Carteret; "after all,
+they wither just as soon."
+
+"I _cannot_ skimp over flowers, Bert, I cannot." Esme went off to dress.
+
+"What could she skimp over?" Bertie wondered.
+
+Estelle Reynolds came in quietly, smiled good morning, began quite
+naturally to get the vases ready. "How glorious they are," she said, as
+she put the long-stemmed forced carnations into slender silver vases.
+"They must cost a fortune now."
+
+"They do." Bertie was writing to his broker. "They do, Estelle.
+Everything costs a fortune here just now. But we must come to the
+humble sweet peas next week, or something of its class. What a
+housekeeper you would make, Estelle."
+
+"Would I?" She hid the pain in her soft grey eyes, turned suddenly
+away. One of the foolish women whose joy lies in sacrifice, who find
+stupid satisfaction in balanced accounts, in saving for the man who
+works for them, who in some mysterious way stretches the weekly
+allowance when the children come, and finds only happiness in the
+giving up to do it. A homely little brown thrush, looking, wondering at
+a world of gay-plumaged songless birds.
+
+"I." Estelle's eyes were under her control again. She smiled bravely.
+"I am one of the dowdy people who like to mess in the kitchen and dust,
+value a pleasure for what it costs ... it's childish."
+
+"The fault of the world's inhabitants is that they are stamping out
+childishness," he said slowly. "They have forgotten to take joy in blue
+skies and green fields because it costs them nothing to look at them;
+they are forgetting how to enjoy themselves except in herds. If we have
+Irish stew at a shooting lunch it must be spoilt by half a dozen
+expensive flavourings lest my Lady Sue or Madame Sally should say we
+are so poor that we can only afford mutton and potatoes and onions.
+Even the children must have tea at Charbonel's and sweets from Buzzard
+or Fuller, though possibly a packet of butterscotch or home-made toffee
+would be much more to their taste...."
+
+Estelle laughed.
+
+"I took the Handelle children out last week," she said. "Their mother
+asked me to--you remember you took me once there to sing and she's been
+kind to me--and we went on the top of a 'bus, and had tea at Lyon's,
+bought flowers at Piccadilly Circus, and oh, they did enjoy themselves,
+but Lady Eva was quite shocked."
+
+"Oh, Estelle, thank you." Esme came back, radiant in clinging black,
+the emeralds shining at her bare throat, a big hat framing her face.
+
+Hugh Carteret came just then. An old man, deep lines of sorrow drawn on
+his face, shrinking visibly from any allusion to his loss, suffering
+from the grief which finds no relief in words. He was cold before
+Esme's gush of greeting, looked at her critically and made scant
+response to her smiles.
+
+"It was so good of him to come, they were hidden away down here. And
+oh, they did want to change and get a house farther west."
+
+"Why not then?" Hugh Carteret asked.
+
+"The dreadful rents," Esme answered. "We can't afford it. And we _do_
+want to move. The flat is so stuffy, so small."
+
+"It seems big enough for two," Colonel Carteret answered, looking hard
+at Esme. "Of course, if you had children I could understand."
+
+"Oh, we couldn't afford children," she said, flinging a wistful note in
+her voice. And one not altogether feigned, for as she spoke she
+remembered the boy who was growing strong in the nursery at Grosvenor
+Square.
+
+"Mrs Gresham," announced the maid.
+
+"I'd no idea it was a party." Colonel Carteret looked at his black
+clothes and spoke reproachfully.
+
+"It wasn't. Dollie Gresham was not asked, uncle."
+
+Dollie made it plain in a minute. She knew Esme was at home; she'd
+asked the maid and she came along.
+
+"It's about a bazaar, Esme. I want someone to help me to get one up for
+that new little hospital. Denise Blakeney would help Susie Handelle.
+We'd run it, you and I."
+
+Through an elaborate, expensive lunch old Colonel Carteret was almost
+silent. The _vol au vent_ of truffled chicken had given way for forced
+fruit before Estelle got him to talk to her. He thawed before her
+gentle voice, a shy, troubled old man, numbed still by his loss. His
+boys had been his all. He could not realize that they had left him. He
+had saved, planned, improved for Cyril and George; now mechanically,
+because the places were there, he carried it on. He had seen very
+little of Esme; until his boys' deaths he had been wrapped up in them,
+never mixing in Society. Now he looked at the expensive flowers in
+Venetian glasses; he tasted elaborate made dishes, forced fruits, ices,
+and once or twice he shook his head as if at some inward thoughts.
+
+Dollie Gresham chattered of her bazaar. It was just the time for one,
+they would start it at once. Restlessly energetic, she went to the
+telephone after luncheon, rang up Denise Blakeney.
+
+"Yes, Denise will help sell. Only think, Esme"--this after a long
+pause--"Sir Cyril's given her another car, and that diamond pendant of
+old Lady Gilby's, you know, the one he was selling. Since that boy
+came"--Dollie hung up the receiver--"Denise gets all she wants, and a
+great deal more. She is simply, tiresomely happy, adores dear Cyril,
+and has a convenient memory for the past. _Tiens_, such is life."
+
+Esme's face was set, sullen, as she listened. Denise had everything.
+Denise was not generous; there were so many things which she could have
+given, yet the very tie between the two women seemed to destroy their
+old friendship.
+
+In the flower-decked, richly-furnished little drawing-room old Hugh
+Carteret talked to Estelle. He looked bewildered, puzzled.
+
+"Bertie told me they were not rich," he said. "Yet the place seems to
+me to be almost too luxurious, that they lack nothing."
+
+"I think"--Estelle fidgeted a little, her grey eyes distressed--"that
+Esme is very young, that she perhaps grasps at things, so to speak,
+perhaps spends a little more than she ought to."
+
+"I am a judge of wines." Hugh Carteret nodded. "The hock was one of the
+best, the old brandy cost fourteen or fifteen shillings a bottle, the
+port was vintage. I tasted them all." He shook his head again.
+
+Esme, coming in, sat by him, tried every trick she knew of winning
+glance and smile. But her childish charm had left her; she could only
+hark back to her poverty, to her want of money, and each half-veiled
+appeal left the old man silent.
+
+"You present-day women want too much," he said quietly. "You won't be
+content. You live too much for yourselves; if you had children now"--he
+stopped, his voice breaking. "I tell you what," he said, "if you are
+really hard up you can have Cliff End rent free. It's lovely there,
+close to the sea, and the staghounds to hunt with."
+
+Esme knew where it was, an old house croaking on the cliffs of Devon,
+near a country town, a place without society, without amusements. She
+shivered.
+
+"It would be too big for us," she said, trying to speak gratefully.
+"Far too large to keep up; but thank you greatly, dear uncle."
+
+"And too far from shopland," he said in his shy, shrewd way. "Yes,
+well, my dear, it was a mere idea."
+
+"He'll do nothing for us, old miser," Esme flung out in anger almost
+before the old man had left. "He is hateful, Bertie, your old uncle."
+
+"Perhaps, looking round him, he does not think there is much to be
+done," said Bertie, drily. "I am very fond of old Uncle Hugh."
+
+They drove up to Grosvenor Gate, strolled into the Park--the April day
+had tempted people out there; the beds were a glory of wall-flowers and
+spring bulbs. A green limousine, purring silently, pulled up close to
+them. Esme turned swiftly; it held Lady Blakeney and the nurse, who
+carried an elaborately-dressed bundle of babyhood.
+
+"Wait here." Denise, jumping out lightly, ran across to speak to
+friends. She was radiant, brilliant in her happiness, a woman without
+sufficient brain to feel remorse.
+
+"Oh, Mrs Stanson, let me see him."
+
+Esme went to the side of the car; she had not dared lately to go up to
+the nursery at Grosvenor Square. Denise had forbidden it.
+
+Mrs Stanson got down, holding the rosy, healthy boy; he chuckled, his
+blue eyes blinking, a picture of contented, soft-fleshed, mindless
+life. His mittened fingers closed round Esme's as she looked into his
+face. Hers this healthy atom--hers, and Denise was rich, happy,
+contented because of him, while she, his mother, wanted everything.
+
+"What a lovely mite." Bertie Carteret bent over the smiling baby. "He's
+got eyes of your colour, Esme, true forget-me-nots."
+
+"Yes. You do mind him well, nurse. Her ladyship--"
+
+"It was great coaxing to get her ladyship to bring him out to-day," the
+woman said carelessly. "She's not like you, Mrs Carteret; she doesn't
+like these small things."
+
+"Oh, yes, Esme"--Denise came back--"looking at the Baa. He's a fine
+specimen, isn't he? Cyril gives him this car for himself, and a new one
+to me. Come and see me soon, won't you? Lancaster Gate, Hillyard--Lady
+Mary Graves's house. Bundle in that infant, Mrs Stanson, and if he
+cries I get out."
+
+The car glided on. Esme watched it going, with a sullen anger at her
+heart; she had to clench her hands to keep quiet. Did Denise never
+think? Had she no gratitude--no conscience--no regret for her
+successful fraud? None, it would seem.
+
+"Esme, you look quite white." Dollie Gresham's spiteful little giggle
+rang out close by. "Are you coming on to play bridge with me?"
+
+"Not to-day, Dollie. I've a shocking headache. I'll go home and rest."
+
+"It must be bad," said Dollie, "to take you to your fireside. Was the
+sight of that wonderful son and heir too much for you?--that Bayard
+among babies? _Sans peur et sans reproche._"
+
+"You do look seedy, child." Bertie took Esme to the gate and drove her
+back.
+
+She lighted the gas stove--the flat teemed in labour-saving
+annoyances--and sat by it, the heat making the perfume of the flowers
+almost overpowering.
+
+Bertie got her hot tea, sat with her, some of the old loving
+comradeship springing up between them.
+
+"That little chap made me envious, Es," he said, after a long silence.
+
+"Bertie--surely you wouldn't like a child?" Esme's voice rang shrilly.
+"Surely you wouldn't. Coming to disturb us, crippling us!"
+
+"People manage," he said slowly. "They manage. We could have gone out
+of London, lived more quietly. Every man wants his son, Butterfly; they
+are selfish people, you know."
+
+"You'd like one?" The shrillness died out of Esme's voice, it grew
+strained.
+
+"And after all better spend money on a little chap than waste it on
+Holbrook's wines and old brandies," he said. "Yes, it's the one thing
+I've wanted, Es--just to make our lives perfect. Monsieur, Madame, et
+Bebe; marriage is never quite right until the third comes to show a
+selfish pair what their fathers and mothers gave up for them."
+
+"I thought two people were so much happier alone." Esme stared into the
+glowing, companionless fire, with no crackle of coal or hiss of wood,
+but the modern maid objects to blacking grates.
+
+"Well, sweetheart, some day you'll know better," he said, "perhaps."
+The maid brought in the evening paper, laying it on the table.
+
+"Esme!" Bertie Carteret jumped up. "Young De Vinci is dead--dead of
+pneumonia."
+
+Death of the Earl of De Vinci on the eve of his marriage. Then Esme
+caught the paper. "Is Uncle Hugh next heir--didn't you tell me so?"
+
+"Uncle Hugh is Lord De Vinci, and if he does not marry again, a remote
+contingency, I'm the next heir. A son, Esme, is a necessity now."
+
+Esme put the paper down. Her son, heir to a title, was at Sir Cyril
+Blakeney's house and she could not claim him.
+
+"Bertie"--she walked restlessly about the room--"I heard such a strange
+story the other day, a woman who did something hideously dreadful
+and--was afraid to tell."
+
+"Deceit is the one thing I could never forgive," said Carteret, firmly.
+"I'd put a woman away, even if it broke my heart, if I found out that
+she had done anything mean or had deceived me."
+
+Esme grew white, for hers was a plot which no man could forgive. She
+had sold her son for a paltry allowance, for the right to amuse herself
+in peace.
+
+"I wonder if old Uncle Hugh will do anything for us now," she said in a
+strained, bitter voice.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+"This bazaar," said Dollie Gresham, cheerily, "is humming. I have not
+been asked about as much as I should like to be lately; people forget
+poor little nobodies. The Duchess is giving her patronage, _entre
+nous_. Mavis Moover will dance for me--joy for her Grace of Boredom!
+Oh, I've got heaps and heaps of people! We are secretaries, and
+cashiers, and so forth, and we shall all wear flower dresses. Our stall
+shall be forget-me-nots. The Duchess chose tulips; she said she had a
+black silk gown and she knew there was a tulip of that colour. We shall
+be audaciously beautiful in sky blue, rather short."
+
+Esme had rushed into this new scheme.
+
+"It won't cost much, will it?" she asked.
+
+"Secretaries, workers, _cherie_," prattled Dollie, "have all expenses
+paid. All frocks, frills, etc.; they give their valuable time. Come
+with me to Claire's. She is at least original."
+
+Dollie's maid brought in two cards. Mrs Gresham frowned over them.
+
+"The tiresome secretary of the hospital," she said, "and Canon Bright,
+one of the founders. Look charitable, Esme."
+
+Next moment, all smiles, she greeted a kindly-looking, middle-aged man
+and a grey-haired clergyman; a stern-faced, clear-eyed man, who made
+this hospital for little suffering children his hobby.
+
+They overwhelmed Dollie with thanks.
+
+"This debt"--Canon Bright took out some notes of figures--"was weighing
+us down. Now, with your help, it will be paid off, and we shall have
+something besides to go on with, to buy sorely-needed appliances."
+
+"Oh, of course," said Dollie, vaguely.
+
+"We were looking for some kind lady or society to take it up;
+fortunately you met Mr Lucy at luncheon."
+
+"Yes; that put it into my head," said Dollie, brightly. "Bazaars are so
+paying; this is my friend and sister secretary, Mrs Carteret. I've got
+every big name in London, Canon, or half of them. Oh, it will be a
+great success. We've taken the hall. We're all going to be summer
+flowers. 'The Summer Flower Bazaar,' such a good name, isn't it?"
+
+Mr Lucy nursed his hat. "You won't let the expenses mount, Mrs
+Gresham," he said, "will you? Once they begin to swell our cripples
+would lose. You'll let me help you with the accounts. It's my _metier_,
+you see, and I could help you."
+
+Dollie chilled visibly. She preferred to do it all herself, she said.
+"We really want to _work_," she went on, smiling again. "After all,
+it's quite simple. We have all our cheques paid in and we pay the exes
+and hand you the balance. We'll work it up like anything. You get all
+your people to come, Canon--all your charitable friends. The dear
+little cripples," cooed Dolly--"so nice to help them."
+
+"Tiresome, muddling pair," she snapped when the two men had left. "Come
+to Claire's, Esme. I owe her two hundred, but these flower dresses will
+cool her rage, and she'll know we'll pay for this lot all right."
+
+Claire received them dubiously, then thawed to the order for the
+bazaar. If Mrs Gresham could get her the carnation order also, Lady
+Louisa's stall, and the roses. Forget-me-nots, by the way, were spring
+flowers.
+
+Oh, it didn't matter. Clouds of gauze, blue satin, wreaths of flowers
+stiffened with turquoises, shoes, stockings. Dollie ordered lavishly.
+
+"That Estelle girl shall help," Esme said. "She is the kind of person
+who'll open boxes and get dusty and save us trouble. By the way, what
+shall we sell? Not tea. One has to run about. Sweets, I should think,
+and buttonholes."
+
+"We are not distinguished enough for buttonholes," said Dollie,
+decidedly. "When Adolfus or Gargie buys a white pink for five shillings
+he likes to tell mamma and his lady friend that the Countess of
+'Ighlife pinned it in with her own fingers, Vilet, her very own. Dolfus
+does not seem to realize that the use of other people's would be
+confusing. No, let it be sweets. Chocolates will show off our blue
+frocks."
+
+Bertie Carteret found himself left more and more alone. Esme was always
+feverishly busy, always just going on somewhere, chasing pleasure,
+growing thinner in the pursuit, using just a little more rose bloom, a
+little extra powder to hide jaded lines and fading colour.
+
+At the end of May Bertie paid his household bills again and knew that
+they were far too large. No extravagance seemed to have been curtailed;
+if they had not lunched or dined so often at home, he had paid for a
+score of meals at fashionable restaurants. Esme's careless demands for
+a few pounds for cabs were endless.
+
+"I can't do it," he muttered, writing his cheques. "I can't get on."
+
+A plea to Esme would only make her sullen, irritable, railing at her
+poverty, muttering against poor marriages.
+
+"I--oh, you are alone. I've brought the book which Esme asked me for."
+Estelle Reynolds came on Bertie as he sighed over his bills. "And the
+pearls she left to be mended."
+
+She put down a new novel on the table, one barred by libraries. Esme
+would look at it, probably forget to finish it, unless she thought she
+found any of her friends were pilloried between the flaring green
+covers.
+
+Estelle put down a receipt with the pearls, one for two pounds. Bertie
+looked at the amount.
+
+"Has Esme paid you?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, no, it does not matter--any time." Estelle blushed. "I can ask
+her."
+
+"I wonder"--he turned--"how much she has let you pay, this careless
+wife of mine. For the future, Estelle, bring anything to me."
+
+"You seem to have enough to pay for." Estelle pointed to a pile of
+books and cheques.
+
+"Too much! More than I can manage. Estelle, is nothing of value unless
+it costs money? Must one always lunch and dine and sup with people
+whose daily income equals our half-yearly one? Can a woman ever look
+well in a frock which costs less than twenty pounds? Oh, one must go to
+so-and-so--everyone does. Is there nothing simple left in life?" said
+Bertie, drearily. "No pleasure in a corner of the country where a man
+could pay his way honestly, and eat strawberries in June and peaches in
+August?"
+
+"Is it as bad as that?" Estelle came to the table, glanced at some of
+the books.
+
+She was a slight girl, with nothing but her grey eyes redeeming her
+from mediocrity.
+
+Bertie Carteret sat opposite a full-length portrait of his wife. It was
+tinted, showing her dazzling colouring, her rounded figure. It stared
+at him with Esme's careless, joyous smile. Never yet, when he had
+touched her, had the softness of her ivory neck, the warmth of her
+white skin, failed to wake passion in him, make him wax to the heat of
+love, melting and desiring. So she had won his heart when he met her in
+the country, the beauty of a small military station, a doctor's
+daughter, well born, but dowerless, bringing beauty alone as her
+marriage portion. Her beauty, her joyous love of life, had won her a
+niche in London Society. Friends had given her introductions, and Esme
+had grown into the life as a graft grows to the parent stem.
+
+What poet has written that each woman is a flower with its
+characteristics, its scent, or beauty?
+
+Was not this wife of his a gorgeous sunflower, turning her head to the
+light and warmth of amusement, standing out among her fellows, dazzling
+as she caught the light, a thing to look at and admire, but not to bend
+one's face over drinking in a rare sweet perfume.
+
+Now that he sat thinking he knew there had been none of the intimacy of
+married lovers; no scheming for their dual interests, no planning of
+some little trip to be taken together, none of the talks which wed man
+and woman more surely than the service ordained by law. Nothing but
+love and laughter. Together, with the world shut out, Bertie must not
+talk of ordinary things, but of Esme. She would lean against him,
+exquisite, perfect, silken draperies merely veiling her long, rounded
+limbs, and he must talk of her alone. Tell her again and again how
+beautiful she was; find new perfection in her golden hair, her bright
+cheeks, the curves of her beauty.
+
+Then in the mornings, when there was an hour before they need get up,
+when Esme had put on a lace cap and got into some soft-hued wrapper,
+she would chatter gaily, but never of their future, of the home which
+Bertie, man-like, dreamt of; but of the day's doings, of luncheon and
+tea and dinner and theatre, of flying from place to place, from friend
+to friend.
+
+"The Holbrooks are sending their small car for me to do my shopping in;
+aren't they kind, Bert? Lady Sue sent us a big basket of fruit
+yesterday for my little dinner. We've such heaps to do, Bertie,
+to-day--such heaps!"
+
+She would stretch her warm limbs in the luxurious joy of being alive,
+the joy of youth and strength and happiness.
+
+There were no kisses in the morning. Marie had already laved Madame's
+face in scented water, and rubbed in Madame's face cream to prepare her
+skin for its light dust of powder.
+
+Sometimes, half shyly, Bertie would try to talk of the future, say they
+could not always live in the army.
+
+"There are such dear little places to be found, Es"--he used to study
+advertisements--"just big enough. We could keep a horse or two, a
+garden--be so happy!"
+
+"And become cabbages ourselves. Play bridge with the parson and his
+wife, and go to summer tennis-parties with two men and forty maids.
+London, my Bertie, it's the only place for poor people. The country is
+all very well if you need never stay there, but to grow rooted to
+garden soil! Boo! I'll get you on! You shall be a General and inspect
+armies."
+
+Bertie gave up his dream of a little house in the country; he got used
+to the careless, ever-moving life. And now he sickened of it.
+
+If women were flowers, this woman standing near him was a violet, a
+simple thing, only beautiful to those who love sweetness better than
+flaring beauty.
+
+"You're worried," she said. "Where is Esme?"
+
+"Esme is out for the day," he said.
+
+"Then you've often promised me an outing. Come and be a cheap tripper
+with me; let it be my treat. I got a cheque from mother yesterday. I'm
+rich. Let's pretend we're very poor, and enjoy ourselves. You mustn't
+sit there brooding."
+
+Bertie put away the books, laughed up at the gentle face. He would, but
+he must pay half.
+
+The May day was theirs; they would enjoy it as two children.
+
+They would take a 'bus, lunch, go to the White City, see how economy
+can be practised.
+
+They lunched at a little restaurant in Germain Street, studying the
+menu with puckered brows, taking omelette and a grill which they could
+share, and biscuits and cheese, and light white wine.
+
+The amount of a bill which would not have covered tips at the Berkeley
+or the Ritz was gaily paid.
+
+Bertie saw a new side to Estelle's character; the childish power of
+enjoyment. Take a taxi? No! Taxis were for the rich. They sat on the
+top of a motor 'bus, going down roaring Piccadilly.
+
+Esme, coming to the door of the Berkeley, happened to look up at the
+packed mass of humanity seated on the monster's head.
+
+"Bertie!" she flashed out, mockingly, "and the South African girl.
+Bertie happily saving his pennies and seeing London. Oh! how funny."
+
+She forgot that a year ago she had often gone in a 'bus with him.
+
+There were only taxis in the world for her now, or motors. The little
+electric carriages were so cheap to hire. Esme's bill at the nearest
+garage was running up rapidly. "It was such a 'bore' to look for a taxi
+in the evenings; this was ready and took one on to supper or ball, and
+back again, and cost very little more," she would say.
+
+Bertie had not seen his wife. He sat enjoying the sunshine, looking
+down at the packed streets, as the 'bus slipped through the
+traffic--past Grosvenor Gate, on to the London which is not London to
+Society, but merely "down in Kensington," into the vast grounds of the
+Exhibition, to play as children might have played. To rock on
+switchbacks, taking the front seat for the heart-sinking glides and
+dips; to come foolishly down watershutes; to slide on mats round
+perilous curves; to go and laugh at themselves in ridiculous mirrors.
+And then with an aftermath of seriousness to look at the quaint
+buildings of Shakespeare's time, and talk of the dead master of the
+drama.
+
+Estelle had read every play; she could quote aptly, talk of those which
+she had seen.
+
+"He had one fault," she said. "His good women were mawkish fools; his
+villainesses splendidly lovable. It was the spirit of the age, no
+doubt, that to be good one must be a mere loving nonentity, that brains
+led the feminine world to destruction."
+
+If the world would but hang out warnings to the blind mortals who
+scurry through its maze, seeking for openings, or shouting, laughing,
+as they go; if we knew that an hour hence our life's history would
+change, and that a refusal to go to lunch, a turning up one corner
+instead of another, would leave it as it was, would it be better for us?
+
+If Bertie Carteret, talking eagerly, almost boyishly, with a new
+interest in words, had realized that the turnstile of the Exhibition
+was taking him into a land of pain and regret, would he have seen the
+warning, laughed, or turned back? He had passed through it now; his
+feet were set on the path.
+
+They drank tea out of blue-and-white Japanese cups, with sight-seers
+all round them. Esme would have shuddered at the place, absolutely
+refused to take tea with milk in it, and with such impossible people
+about her.
+
+Estelle enjoyed it; the day was still theirs as they dined at the same
+little restaurant with the same waiter, his memory sharpened by
+Bertie's surreptitiously large tip, rushing to find a table for them.
+
+Weariness made economy less rigid; the little dinner they picked out
+was simple, but not for poor people. Since men in morning coats may not
+appear in respectably expensive seats, they climbed high at a theatre,
+looking down at the stage far below them; the brilliant mass of colour
+in the stalls; the rows of perfectly-dressed women's heads; of
+men's--sleek and generally thin of hair. Parties strolled into boxes,
+late for half an act, carelessly looking at the play on the stage.
+
+"There's Esme! See!"
+
+Esme came into one of the larger boxes with Dollie Gresham, Jimmie Gore
+Helmsley; a couple of soldiers; and then at the last, pretty Sybil
+Chauntsey, gesticulating as she ran in, everyone laughing at something
+she said.
+
+"I wish"--Bertie looked gravely at the group--"that Sybil Chauntsey
+would keep away from that Helmsley man. He's no child's guide."
+
+It was Jimmie's party. He had telephoned to Esme to chaperone it. They
+were supping at the Ritz afterwards. Little Sybil had been engaged; she
+had run in telling them of her many difficulties before she could get
+away. At a small dance to-night one man would look for a partner who
+would never come.
+
+Estelle was tired when the theatre was over; it was hot up there above
+the dress circle. She pointed to her morning dress and refused supper.
+
+"We'll have some at home then. Esme may be back. The economy must end
+at twelve. I'll drive you home in a taxi."
+
+They came to the flat to find it silent, shut up. Esme was not coming
+home until three or four. A few sandwiches stood ready for her, but
+Bertie would have none of them. He could cook; there were chafing
+dishes downstairs. Together they raided the trim larder, to find
+nothing but cold beef and eggs and butter. But how they laughed as
+Bertie scrambled the eggs, and did it skilfully, if he had not put in
+pepper twice, and Estelle grilled slices of beef in boiling butter, and
+dusted them with curry powder; then they heated cold potatoes and
+carried up their hot dishes, with bread and butter and plates.
+
+Estelle said she adored pepper, as she burnt her throat with scrambled
+eggs. Bertie concealed the fact that the beef was corned; the potatoes,
+hot by the time the eggs and beef were finished, were excellent.
+Estelle made coffee.
+
+They cleared up at last, washing dishes, putting things away, going
+home together on a cool summer's night in a crawling growler.
+
+Esme's new maid, looking in once, had slipped away unseen.
+
+A foolish, childish day; a glimpse of how two people may enjoy
+themselves in the vast mother city of the world, away from where the
+golden shower of wealth rains so heedlessly, where cost is the hallmark
+of excellence, and a restaurant which is not the fashion of the moment
+is impossible.
+
+As they said good-bye on the doorstep--Estelle had her key--Bertie held
+her cool, slender hands in his; asked her if she would spend a day out
+of London with him. "Down in Devonshire," he said, "at Cliff End. I
+have to go there soon. We can go early. Your aunt will not mind."
+
+"Oh, not with you," said Estelle, simply. "She knows it is all right."
+
+He felt a little pang at the words--a pang he could not understand. It
+was right that she should trust herself with him; he was married and a
+mere friend; yet the little vexed feeling in his heart was the warning
+held up by the gods.
+
+Bertie walked back--a long walk along quiet streets with great London
+brooding in her silent might. Sometimes he passed a house lighted up,
+red carpeting on its steps, rows of carriages and motors waiting; women
+in rich cloaks coming out, their faces weary behind their smiles.
+Sometimes strange birds of the night flitted past. Other women,
+painted, weary as their rich sisters behind their set smile of
+invitation, going home alone, abandoning search for foolish prey. Men,
+evil-faced, furtive, glanced at him, standing to watch if the "toff"
+would turn into some unfrequented narrow street. Gleams of white shirt
+front as men of his class strolled to their rooms or lodging, their
+black cloaks flapping back to show the evening dress underneath. A few
+tipsy, foolish boys, lurching along looking for trouble. The big clubs
+were still lighted, their warm wealth behind their great windows. On to
+"down at Kensington," to the great pile of the flats towering to the
+soft blue sky.
+
+A little electric carriage rolled noiselessly past him. Esme got out. A
+man's voice said "Good-bye." It was one of the soldiers whom he had
+seen in the box. He heard some words of parting, then Esme's careless,
+heart-whole laugh. They were on the second floor; he heard her exclaim
+as she saw the lights all up:
+
+"How careless of someone."
+
+She was brilliantly dressed; something of black and silver, clinging,
+graceful, billowing out round her feet; there were diamonds in her fair
+hair, a new necklace on her soft white throat. She shivered a little,
+turning on the fire, filling herself a glass of brandy from the
+decanter, pouring in a little Perrier.
+
+"I was the careless one, Esme. I forgot them."
+
+"But you have only just come in," she said.
+
+"I was in and went out again. You look tired, Esme."
+
+The morning light, stealing in through the drawn curtains, was blue and
+searching. It showed the powder on her cheeks, the line of the
+deftly-applied carnation bloom; it made her a little haggard, older
+than her twenty-five years.
+
+"Yes, I'm tired," she yawned. "I thought you would be asleep." She
+lighted a strong cigarette. "I'm tired. We had supper at the Ritz and
+went on to Sue's ball. She had a new necklace, a beauty! She's just got
+an electric landaulette. Heigho! I'm tired of being poor--of pinching."
+
+"You came home in an electric landaulette, Butterfly," Bertie smiled at
+her, but it was a mirthless smile.
+
+"Oh! I'll pay for them myself," she flashed out ill-humouredly. "I
+can't hunt for taxis. I--" she stopped. Bertie allowed her a hundred a
+year for small things, pocket-money; she must make him think she saved
+out of that.
+
+"And new diamonds." He touched the necklace glittering on the soft
+white flesh.
+
+"Paste," she said, "paste. The thing only cost ten pounds. I had
+nothing decent to wear."
+
+Until one took up the necklace one could not guess--see the solid
+backing. It was a brilliant thing; the workmanship perfect; but it had
+cost five times ten pounds.
+
+Bertie bent to kiss the soft, warm flesh; slipped his arm round the
+supple shoulders.
+
+"Come! I'll put you to bed," he whispered; "be your obedient maid,
+Butterfly."
+
+"Susan will come, I told her to. Go to the little room, Bertie. I sleep
+so badly and anything disturbs me. I've heaps to do to-morrow."
+
+He took his arm away, his ardour chilling, and went out without a word.
+Susan, sleepy but attentive, came in; put Madame to bed; washed the
+soft skin free of powder and paint; brought a little glass to the
+bedside.
+
+"Madame's drops. Madame might not sleep."
+
+Crystal clear, tasteless, soothing, bringing dreamless, heavy sleep; a
+slide of treachery down which women slip to ill-health and worse.
+Already, at five-and-twenty, Esme was taking chloral.
+
+The Society Bazaar began to take shape, to approach the days of its
+holding. Gorgeous gowns of satin and gauze and lace were fashioned for
+fair debutantes and pretty matrons.
+
+Sweets, china, baskets; the hundred and one things which no one wants
+and which they must buy at three times the value when ordered.
+
+The Duchess of Boredom would sell baskets. Dollie suggested an idea of
+diamond-like brilliancy: "Tie a card to every one:
+
+  'The Duchess of Boredom,
+          Boredom Court,'
+
+with just a letter 's' and 'stall' in the corner. Everyone suburban in
+the room will rush for those baskets, and shop with them for months to
+come, forgetting, of course, to take off the card. It's perfect," said
+Dollie, "if she'll do it."
+
+"Or you might have some made in the shape of strawberry leaves," said
+Bertie, gravely.
+
+The Duchess did not object to her card being used. She was willing to
+order some hundreds of cards for the sake of charity.
+
+"The Bazaar, of course, paying my stationers," said the Duchess,
+severely.
+
+There were sweet stalls, where pretty notabilities, for five shillings
+extra, would sign their names on the boxes.
+
+There was a stall kept by great actresses, who sold their autographs
+and their photographs, and buttonholes of rosebuds and carnations.
+
+There were side shows, cafe chantants, everything to take money from
+the public.
+
+"For the tiny crippled children. Help them." Children selling flowers
+and sweets, dressed all in pale pink, crowned with rosebuds, carried
+little cards on their heads, with these words printed.
+
+"Let us be nothing if not sentimental," said Dollie, looking round the
+hall. Dull green gave background to the flower dresses; dull green on
+stalls and against the walls. Royalty had promised to be present. It
+was a great affair.
+
+"It will buy tweeds," said Dollie. "It always does. And baskets, and
+sweets for the hospitals. And it--the male part of it--won't be allowed
+any of the photographs it wants from the stage stall."
+
+A great bazaar, which a minor Royalty graciously declared open, and
+then remembered an engagement; its royal purse was sparsely supplied.
+
+All Society seemed to be assisting, but Suburbia flocked to it, and in
+the evening Shopland would render gallant support.
+
+"For the tiny crippled children; see the lovely dears," said Mrs Harris
+to Mrs Smith of Clapham. "What's your name, little love, now?"
+
+"Pollie Laverdean," a small mite of eight raised dark liquid eyes. "Buy
+somefin', p'ease."
+
+"Lady Marrianne," whispered a better-informed friend. "The Countess of
+Gardenia's eldest--ain't she sweet?"
+
+"An' to call her plain Pollie. My! my!" murmured the friend.
+
+Mrs Smith and Mrs Harris bought two small china dogs at five shillings
+each, and a box of shilling chocolates at the same price.
+
+The Duchess's baskets went as snow before the sun.
+
+Lady Lila Blyth and her lovely daughters sold flowers freely. The names
+of the assistants were written plainly over each stall--another idea of
+Dollie's.
+
+Lady Lila Blyth, Miss Eva Blyth, Miss Lulu Blyth; Lady Eliza O'Neill;
+Mrs Holmes; the Marquess of Tweesdale; Lord Rupert Scot; the Earl of
+Domomere.
+
+Brilliantly handsome in her blue gown, Esme sold chocolate and dragees
+and crystallized fruits.
+
+Canon Bright had worked hard to help; got flowers and fruit sent in
+great quantities. He and the little secretary came now through the
+stalls.
+
+"It's splendid," he said to Dollie; "the stores near us sent a box of
+stuff to your stall."
+
+"Oh, yes, thanks awfully! Is it there, Esme? We haven't opened it yet.
+When these shop things are sold we will."
+
+"But," the Canon picked up a huge guinea box of fruits, stickily
+alluring, "you've had to buy all these, haven't you?"
+
+"Yes, and you see it wouldn't be fair if we didn't sell quite a lot of
+these things as we get them at a reduction. But we'll open the box; the
+children can sell the things."
+
+Going on to Lady Lila's stall, a mass of carnations and roses and sweet
+peas, the secretary asked for the gifts of flowers. The Canon had
+begged from half his county.
+
+The same vague look. "Oh, all these hampers and boxes. You see, these
+were in and the florist's people arrange and settle them for us. We'd
+have to bunch all these others, wouldn't we? Oh, of course, they'd be
+clear profit, but one cannot wait for chance gifts, can one? One must
+be ready."
+
+Baskets of dewy rosebuds, of white pinks, sweet peas, of carnations lay
+withering behind the stalls. The florists had decked the tables, would
+do the same to-morrow. One could not bother with piles of things loose
+in baskets.
+
+Canon Bright, used to humble county bazaars, where every gift was
+welcomed, could not understand it.
+
+He bought lavishly. He looked with a smile which was almost wistful at
+the mites who fluttered about the thronged hall, their notices held up
+by wires above the crowns of roses.
+
+"For the tiny crippled children." They rattled their little bags of
+money as they sold their goods.
+
+"Fink there are any crippled children?" said Lady Pollie to her friend
+the Honourable Anne Buller.
+
+"No fear! They's all kept in big places in beds. It's just fun for us
+an' Mumsie. She loves her yellow dress; she's a rose too, Mumsie is.
+Who gave you the gold piece, Pollie?"
+
+"The fat man there; he said I was a sufferin' angel, or perhaps it was
+'nother long word. Let's go an' eat ices or strawberries."
+
+Money pouring into cash boxes; sovereigns for buttonholes; notes for
+foolish trumpery.
+
+Royalty, gracious, really charitable, came in the afternoon, made its
+way through the crush which thronged to watch it, bought lavishly but
+sensibly, spoke kindly to stall-holders, honoured Dollie and Esme with
+special notice.
+
+"I hear you got it all up. So good of you. It is one of the hospitals
+most needed. We went there last week."
+
+Small Royalty carries off a box of sweets with the glee of extremely
+natural childhood; a merry mite; far more simply brought up than shrewd
+little Lady Pollie. _She_ knew that there were real crippled children,
+wan, stunted products of the slums, tended and made happy, perhaps
+cured, in that struggling hospital. She had seen them in their little
+blue jackets, looking eagerly at her kindly mother and at her as they
+went from bed to bed. They passed through a curtseying crowd, bought,
+went on to tea, gracious, kindly people.
+
+"They've simply made it," Esme said. "What a crowd we have. A charming
+box of sweets. Yes. Souvenir of the Bazaar--boxes specially made--one
+guinea. Too much? There's a small one for ten shillings; but the
+Princess took one of the others. Thank you! The big one? Oh, Captain
+Gore Helmsley--buy sweets?"
+
+Jimmie, darkly handsome, his years disguised by careful grooming,
+strolled by. He stopped to say, laughing, that his digestion could not
+assimilate chocolates and dragees. Sybil Chauntsey, a glowing little
+nasturtium, her brown beauty set off by brilliant yellow, came hurrying
+up, young Knox with her; he had come up to try again. She was selling
+buttonholes, helping at one of the flower stalls.
+
+"I'll buy a flower though," Jimmie turned quickly.
+
+"I've only one left," Sybil said, "this yellow carnation. Captain Knox
+wants it. I was just coming for a pin. Mine have all dropped. It's five
+shillings."
+
+"I'll give you ten," Helmsley said. "Touch it with your lips it shall
+be a pound."
+
+"Two," said Knox, sharply.
+
+"An auctioneer!" Esme clapped her hands. "Well done, Sybil. Come,
+Captain Helmsley."
+
+"Four!" said Helmsley, carelessly.
+
+"Five!"
+
+A little crowd gathered. Sybil, glowing, laughing, her childish vanity
+touched by this piece of vulgar advertisement. In her gay yellow and
+red-striped gown she stood holding up the flower; the nasturtium's
+head-dress was a hood of vivid green, opening over mock flower petals.
+
+"Six!"
+
+"Seven!"
+
+"Ten!" said Jimmie, carelessly. "Come, that's a fair price for a
+flower--but I'll go on."
+
+Young Knox stopped bidding suddenly, his face growing white. He watched
+Sybil, laughing brightly, kiss the flower, saw Jimmie Helmsley touch it
+covertly with his lips where her soft red ones had lain, and hold out
+the yellow bud to be fastened on.
+
+"I win the flower," he said mockingly.
+
+"One moment." Young Knox bent close to Sybil. "I'll say good-bye. It's
+not quite my game--this. But if you ever want me, remember I'm there,
+as I told you before. Good-bye."
+
+The glow died out of Sybil Chauntsey's face; her fingers trembled as
+she fastened in the flower and took her five pound notes.
+
+Helmsley walked on with her. Would she come to tea? He had a big box of
+sweets for her. Wouldn't she have them?
+
+Sybil woke up after a minute or two, grew feverishly gay with the
+gaiety which cloaks sorrow; was almost noisy, her cheeks glowing, her
+eyes glittering; took a dozen presents from Gore Helmsley: Venetian
+beads, sweets, charms, bought at fabulous prices.
+
+"Poor chap, not to think your flower worth more than a tenner,"
+Helmsley had said in his mocking voice.
+
+The Great Charity Bazaar ran on wheels oiled by golden oil; the
+cash-boxes filled. Kindly Canon Bright walked round it dreaming of the
+debt which would be paid off his beloved hospital. Of instruments, of
+comforts for the tiny sufferers, of the increased room which they could
+make.
+
+Lord Boredom, very immaculately dressed, was helping his mother, but he
+preferred taking a basket at a time round the hall than attending the
+stall. Once he came back with a demure-looking young lady whom the
+Duchess welcomed cordially as "My dear Miss Moover," making Sukey
+Ploddy sniff loudly.
+
+But the sensation of the evening was when the Duchess was taken to the
+Cafe Chantant to see on the white curtain the words: "Miss Moover, by
+kind permission of the Magnificent Theatre."
+
+The Duchess went in. Miss Moover's dance was audacious, her draperies
+shadow-like; she squirmed and twisted and bounded across the stage,
+displaying the exquisitely-formed limbs which made London flock to see
+her. She was agile, graceful, never exaggerated, full of the joy of
+youth.
+
+From the Magnificent Theatre! The Duchess, breathing heavily, staggered
+out, her black dress rustling. "A dancer! A _creature_!"
+
+"I shall never," she said, "countenance those Holbrooks again," and
+with stony eyes she cut Luke deliberately and sent for her son.
+
+"It was unfortunate, my love," said Mr Holbrook, mildly, "the whole
+idea."
+
+The big bazaar day died to change to a blaze of electric lights, to a
+kaleidoscope of colour, of flower dresses, blue and yellow and pink and
+white, blending and moving; of diners in the miniature Ritz Hotel and
+other restaurants, eating luxurious meals.
+
+It began again next day, a cheaper, less select affair, with half the
+assistants far too tired to come, and it ran through another day; a
+huge spider sucking golden blood from innumerable flies.
+
+It was over at last; the stall-holders ate a merry supper; assistants
+from the shops cleared away their goods; no one bothered much about it
+all now.
+
+The Society papers would publish accounts and photographs, with Dollie
+and Esme, charitable ladies, always in the most prominent place.
+
+Canon Bright and the secretary were jubilant at supper, thanking
+everyone; they would call in a day or two. If Mrs Gresham would let
+them, they would help her with the accounts.
+
+But Dollie told them pleasantly that she wanted no help as yet.
+
+A few days later she sat with Esme over piles of papers, totting
+carelessly.
+
+"They've charged horribly for those sweets. Oh! and Claire's bill is
+exorbitant!" She held it up.
+
+"It's double what it ought to be," said Esme.
+
+"H'm!" Dollie totted. "I want to pay her off. Just a little on to the
+hall account, and to odd nothings, and there are a few extra gowns in
+the price of the blue; that will make it right. One can't slave for
+nothing," said Dollie. "You can get a couple of gowns, too. I arranged
+that with her. It was worth it," said Dollie, "to stop the woman's
+mouth."
+
+When cheques came in other people seemed to have found their expenses
+equally high. London tradesmen charge highly for decorating, for
+assistance. The golden coins paid out for charity went for glitter and
+show, for gowns and waste. The Ritz had not paid its way. All
+stall-holders lunched and dined free there. Hunt & Mason sent in a bill
+of some size.
+
+In a month's time Dollie wanted it all to be forgotten; she sent a
+cheque to the hospital with all her accounts carefully copied out.
+
+The secretary turned pale as he read the amount. "That!" he said,
+"that--after it all! And now, for a year's time, if we appeal for
+funds, people will say, 'But you've just had that bazaar; we went
+there, bought lavishly, we cannot help again so soon.'
+
+"Miss Harnett," he said heavily to the matron, "we must give up all
+idea of that west ward; we cannot afford it; or those new reclining
+chairs and instruments."
+
+He wrote drearily, for his heart was in his work, to Canon Bright.
+
+"All such a splendid success," Dollie's friends had said to her, and
+kindly Royalty, with its love of true charity, asked her to a select
+garden-party.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+"I am going to Cliff End on Friday, Estelle. Will you come? We'll start
+at eight, and get back about ten."
+
+"I'd love to. London is baking me."
+
+June heat glowed through the huge city; the pavements were hot under
+the fierce sun; the air felt used up, heavy; the packed streets
+vibrated under their load of wheeled monsters, of swooping, gliding
+taxis. Everyone was going somewhere; busy, smiling, full of the
+business of pleasure. Old faces were lined under powder and face cream;
+young ones had lost their colour a little.
+
+Perfectly gowned, with hair in the order of the moment, faintly
+scented, smiling, woman, hawk-like, swooped on her natural prey, man.
+Soft debutantes, white-robed, hopeful, fluttered as they dreamt of the
+matches which they might make. Anxious, youthful mothers spent their
+all, and more, to give their girls a chance. Older girls smiled more
+confidently, yet were less hopeful of drawing some great prize.
+
+There, walking along quietly in morning coat, a slouching, keen-eyed
+young fellow; a flutter as he passes.
+
+"See, Audrey! Lord Golderly. Evie, bow; did you not see Lord Golderly?"
+
+Or from more intimate friends: "Sukey! There's Joss. Call him over!
+He's thinner than ever! Mum! there's Jossy! Ask him to our little
+dinner--he might come."
+
+The Marquis of Golderly, with eighty thousand a year, with a panelled
+house in Yorkshire, a castle in Scotland, with Golderly House in
+Piccadilly--let now to rich Americans--had strolled by. A
+pleasant-looking, well-made boy, with his mind full of his new polo
+pony, and not in the least interested in the Ladies Evie and Audrey, or
+in his cousin Sukey. Some day he must marry, but not yet.
+
+Another flutter: a girl runs laughing to catch her toy pom, showing her
+lithe, active limbs as she slips along.
+
+"There comes Sir Edward Castleknock," a little elderly man, his income
+lately depleted by a white marble tombstone to his second wife, but he
+has no heir; he must marry again, and he is a rich man. The youthful
+mothers signal to him, stopping him carelessly, calling to their girls
+as he stops.
+
+"Here's my little Evie, grown up, Sir Edward; you used to give her
+sugared almonds. Makes one so ancient, doesn't it?"
+
+Evie musters a smile for the memory of sugared almonds. She says
+something conventional with a show of excellent teeth. Sir Edward is
+musical. Milady invites him to hear the dear child sing; to lunch on
+Sunday--one-thirty--the old address.
+
+One mamma has got a start of her competitors; captured the widower as
+he emerges from the sombre draped doors of his mourning.
+
+"To sing?" Lady Evie wrinkles a pretty nose. "Well, Mumsie, don't let
+it get past 'Violets' and that French song; they are the only two dear
+old Monsieur could ever get me to sing in tune."
+
+They work hard, these mothers, for their daughters, for what is life
+without riches and places, and a niche in Society's walls? What waste
+of bringing up, of French and German governesses, of dancing lessons
+and swimming lessons, and dull classes, if Evie or Audrey merely
+married some ordinary youngster, to disappear with him upon a couple of
+thousand a year!
+
+So many competitors, so few prizes. The race is to the swift, and the
+strong, and the astute; to the matron who knows not only how to seize
+opportunity, but not to release it again until it puts a ring upon her
+daughter's massaged hand.
+
+So Evie and Sue and Audrey must stifle the natural folly which nature
+has placed in their fresh young hearts, and help "Mum" to the proud
+hour when her daughter will count her wedding presents by the hundred,
+and smile sweetly on the bevy of maidens who are still running in the
+race.
+
+Some, without kindly, clever mothers, must fight for themselves, and in
+the fight use strange methods to attain their prize. Crooked ways,
+cut-off corners, wrong side of posts; yet they too smile quite as
+contentedly if they win at the last.
+
+Young Golderly has been stopped a dozen times; he has seen sweet
+smiles, caught flashing glances. Evie has called attention to her
+lovely feet by knocking one against a chair. Audrey has whispered to
+him that she _adores_ polo; will be at Hurlingham to-day.
+
+"To see you hit a goal," she coos; "oh! how I shall clap!"
+
+"She may be a little wild--my new pony," he says, his mind still full
+of that piece of bay symmetry, a race-horse in miniature, and slips
+away. Golderly had come to meet a friend who would have talked of
+nothing but polo ponies; he has missed him, and the pretty runners of
+the race strive and jostle until they bore him sadly.
+
+He turns to slip away, to get back to his club by a round across the
+Park, and then gasps, smitten roughly, his hat bumping on to the path.
+
+"Oh, I'm so sorry. Blow these hobble skirts. Blow the things!" says a
+girl's voice.
+
+Kitty Harrington, a big, clumsy maiden, freckles powdering her clear
+skin. "A badly-dressed touzled young woman," is the verdict passed on
+her.
+
+Kitty is having her season without any clever, youthful mother; she is
+under the charge of her aunt, Lady Harrington, who does not take much
+notice of her, and thinks the girl a foolish tomboy.
+
+"Snap was running out to where the motors are," says Kitty,
+guilelessly, "and he might get hurt. We were doing a scamper on the
+grass."
+
+Snap is a rough terrier of uncertain pedigree, unwillingly confined in
+London.
+
+"He ties his lead round people's legs if I drag him through the crowd,"
+Kitty goes on. "So we keep away and make believe it's country. Oh! if
+it was! And then this skirt tripped me."
+
+Young Golderly looks at her. A big, rather clumsy girl, but open-eyed,
+fresh from eighteen years of country life; a girl who has learnt to
+swim in the open sea; whose gymnastics have been practised up trees.
+
+"They are rotten things to try to run in," he says, smiling boyishly,
+"those skirts. Haven't I met you somewhere? I'm Lord Golderly." Here he
+pursues his hat, which Snap is treating as if it were a rat.
+
+"Oh! goodness! Oh! I have been clumsy." Kitty is all pink cheeks and
+tearful eyes; she dabs them surreptitiously. "Oh! your poor best
+hat--all torn! Oh! I am a clumsy girl--never meant for London. No, I
+haven't met you. I'm Miss Harrington--Lady Harrington's niece."
+
+"I know her!" Jossy, master of eighty thousand a year, grins as he
+examines his hat brim. "Are you going to the match to-day--to
+Hurlingham?"
+
+"N--no," Kitty's lips droop. "Auntie's made up her party! And oh! I do
+love polo. We play at home, the boys and I. I've such a pony! Have you
+got a nice one?"
+
+"A nice one!" Young Golderly grins again; this girl is like a breath of
+fresh country air blowing across the moorlands. Evidently his name
+conveys nothing to her.
+
+"I've twenty," he says, laughing.
+
+"Oh, then you're rich! How jolly! If I were rich--"
+
+"Well?" he asks.
+
+Kitty puts her head on one side.
+
+"I'd have hunters; three of them, all my own. Not the boys', which I
+borrow. And I'd have a motor and drive it; and give Mumsie a new fur
+coat--hers is old. And I'd have otter hounds."
+
+"Oh, you like that too? Otter hunting," he says eagerly.
+
+"Oh, yes!" Kitty shows a set of strong even teeth. "It's so jolly up in
+the early mornings when all the grass is washing in dew; and hunting up
+the rivers; and the dogs working. And then isn't breakfast good?" says
+Kitty, prosaically. "I'd cook mine on the river bank. I make fine
+scrambled eggs, and I can toast bacon till it's just sumptuous."
+
+Of course Kitty can have no idea that Golderly has hunted a pack of
+otter hounds for some years.
+
+The boy looks at her again. She is so fresh and natural and friendly.
+The skin under her freckles is singularly fine; her eyes are bright,
+her active figure at its worst in a ridiculous hobble skirt.
+
+"Say! I can't go back there," he nods towards the strolling crowd, "in
+Snap's handiwork. Let's walk across the grass."
+
+"I want to get to Lancaster Gate. Right!" says Kitty, "we live there,
+you know."
+
+As they go they talk of ponies and horses and terriers and otters and
+tennis, and when they part young Golderly takes a brown, shapely,
+gloveless hand in his and shakes it warmly.
+
+"Come to the match; come to see me play," he says. "I'll take you over
+to the ponies and show you my beauties. You ought to come."
+
+Kitty rushes in to her aunt. "Auntie! get Hurlingham tickets somewhere.
+You must!" And Kitty tells of her adventure.
+
+When a year later big Kitty marches sedately down the aisle of a
+country church on the arm of her husband, a Marquis, she manages her
+trailing skirts cleverly enough.
+
+A rank outsider, a creature not even mentioned in the betting; but a
+letter from Kitty's dearest friend might prove that she need not have
+tripped so grievously over her hobble skirt; while further experience
+proved that she was lazy about otter hunting, and that behind the
+ingenuous face lay a shrewd and far-seeing brain. The letter was to
+"Dearest Kit."
+
+"Shame of Auntie May not to bother about you," it ran. "I met young
+Lord Golderly at Marches Hall last week-end. He's just your sort--all
+sport. Get to meet him somehow and talk horses--_polo ponies_ and
+_otter hunting_; he's sick of Society."
+
+The future Lady Golderly carefully tore up that letter.
+
+Estelle Reynolds turned from watching the flow of life stream past her
+to speak to Bertie Carteret.
+
+Estelle was a mere outsider there, knowing very few people--just a few
+of Esme's friends. She liked to see them flutter up and down, meeting,
+parting, always going on somewhere, always chattering of the hundred
+things which they had got to do.
+
+"I should like to go to Cliff End," repeated Estelle. "The love of
+London is not with me, though for two years, perhaps three, I must stay
+here, until my mother comes from her travels, in fact."
+
+"Unless--you marry," Bertie said slowly.
+
+In some vague way the thought vexed him.
+
+Estelle laughed. "There is the curate," she said, "but I am not High
+Church enough to please him. Yes, there is the curate. I am far too
+ordinary and stupid for Esme's friends to look at me, and I meet no
+others. My marriage must be deferred until we take up the house in
+Northamptonshire, and then some country squire will suit me and not
+notice my last year's frocks."
+
+"Not notice you," Bertie snorted. "Stupid young tailor's blocks, always
+going on. You don't notice them."
+
+"Oh, they're not all stupid," Estelle said. "Mr Turner told me three
+hands which he had played at bridge the night before, and had crushin'
+luck in them all. He couldn't be stupid with that memory. How is Esme?"
+
+"Frightfully busy," Bertie laughed. "Her latest evening gown was not a
+success. She is weighed down between the choice of pure white or pure
+black for a new opera cloak. Someone is coming to lunch, and the new
+cook's soufflets are weary things, given to sitting down. Also her ices
+melt; and she cannot _saute_ potatoes; it is French for frying, isn't
+it? Look here! come in old clothes, and we'll be babies and help to
+make hay. This day is taken up by a luncheon, by tea at the Carlton,
+dinner at the Holbrooks', an evening party. I have struck at two
+dances, as I have to get up early."
+
+Esme had gone to Madame Claire's to storm over this new gown of golden
+soft chiffon and silk. It dragged; it did not fit. She found Madame
+Claire inaccessible. Mrs Carteret bought a few gowns, but my Lady
+Blakeney was choosing six--two models, two copies, two emanating from
+Madame Jane Claire's slightly torpid English brains. She had her
+country's desire for buttons and for trimmings.
+
+But Denise's order was lavish; it meant petticoats, wraps to match; it
+meant items of real lace. How then to spare sorrow because one golden
+yellow evening gown ordered by a Mrs Carteret had been too hurriedly
+finished.
+
+"Tell Madame that I am really pressed for time. Can she not spare me
+five minutes?"
+
+Madame was with Lady Blakeney, very busy with an order, the forewoman
+was also engaged. A slender young woman in black satin glided back with
+the message. Would Madame call again later, make an appointment? Had
+Madame seen one of the latest scarves? Quite charming, only five
+guineas. Black satin dexterously whisked out a wisp of chiffon. "No!
+Madame did not want a scarf."
+
+Denise was behind the strawberry silk curtains hiding in Madame's
+sanctum. Esme felt hurt, sore. It was always Denise--always Denise.
+She, Esme, was no one.
+
+She got up, looking at her tall, slight figure in one of the long
+glasses; she grew flushed, angry.
+
+"I have not time to call again. Please tell Madame that the evening
+gown is impossible, a strait-waistcoat. I was to have worn it to-night
+at a dance. Now I must wear an old gown of Lucille's--which at least
+fits." Esme flounced out, wiping the dust of the strawberry-hued
+_salon_ from her tightly-shod feet.
+
+Half an hour later Madame Claire heard the message.
+
+"Alter it," she said carelessly. "Let it out. I expect she'll give me
+up now. Send her her bill at once."
+
+The heat beat down in quivering waves. All London shopped, buying,
+buying, since freshness lasted but for a few days, and one must not be
+seen in a gown more than three or four times.
+
+Tinsels and chiffons and laces; feather ruffles; silks and crepes and
+muslins; gloves and silken stockings piled up on the mahogany counters
+for Society to buy. Subtle-tongued assistants lauded their wares; there
+was always something which Madame had not dreamt of buying, but which
+she suddenly discovered to be an absolute necessity.
+
+The flower-shops showed their sheaves of cut blossoms, long-stemmed
+roses, carnations, lilies, pinks, monster sweet peas. Things out of
+season nestled in baskets in the fruiterers. Wealth everywhere, gold or
+promise of gold; electric motors gliding noiselessly. Slim youngsters
+taking their morning stroll; brown-skinned soldiers up for a few days,
+spending in shops behind windows which Madame and Mademoiselle passed
+without a glance. The richest city in the world gathered its summer
+harvest; and white-faced poverty, sometimes straying from their poor
+country, looking on, dully, resentfully envious. Sewing-machines flew
+in the sweltering heat, needles darted, rows of girls sat working
+breathlessly, that great ladies might not be disappointed.
+
+"I must have that embroidered gown for the Duchess's party, Madame."
+
+"Certainly, milady, without fail."
+
+Then a visit to the workroom--a whisper to two pale girls.
+
+"You two must stay overtime to-night, get that dress finished. It
+mustn't get out, either--be careful!"
+
+So, when their breath of air might be snatched, the two would stitch on
+under the dazzle of electric light, drink strong tea and eat bread and
+butter, and never dare to grumble, for there were fifty other girls who
+could be taken instead of them.
+
+Esme strolled up Bond Street. She bought a ruffle which caught her
+fancy; she stopped to talk to half a dozen people; but she strolled on,
+her goal a soot-smirched square where a baby would be taking its airing.
+
+He was there, under his white awning, looking a little pale, a little
+peaked, wilting in the heat.
+
+Mrs Stanson knew her visitor, smiled at her, never quite understood why
+Esme came to the square so often. Esme asked for Denise first; she was
+always careful to know that she was out before she came, then went into
+the gardens.
+
+There was no air in it; the trees had no freshness; the grass looked
+dull and unwholesome.
+
+"Isn't he very white, Mrs Stanson--peaky?"
+
+"He should be in the country," Mrs Stanson said. "Down where his
+windows'd let in air at night and not the smuts from the chimneys. But
+her ladyship--she thinks different; she hates the country. I saw little
+Lord Helmington go in a hot summer because they wouldn't open
+Helmington Hall to send him down there with me."
+
+"But he--Cyrrie--he won't go?" Esme caught at the small soft fingers,
+moist with heat. A sudden fear gripped her heart.
+
+"Was Denise going to kill the boy? Of course she did not care."
+
+"Take care of him, Mrs Stanson. Oh! take care of him. I was there when
+he was born, you know. I used to act nurse for him. Aren't there those
+ozone things you hang up in bedrooms? Or, can't you get him away?"
+
+Esme hung over the baby, jealous of his little life, panting, afraid.
+
+Mrs Stanson had taken several gold pieces from the child's visitor. She
+shrugged her plump shoulders.
+
+"Her ladyship doesn't care for children, Mrs Carteret, and that's the
+truth. She says I fuss, talk nonsense. He don't even get a drive every
+day, and Sir Cyril, he comes in, but he's her ladyship's husband. Hssh!
+baby, hssh!"
+
+For little Cyril began to cry querulously, wrinkling his peaky face.
+
+Esme bent over him, crooning to him, her motherhood awake. Now she knew
+her madness. For this was hers, and she would have sent him away to
+breathe fresh air and grow into a big, strong man like Bertie.
+
+"It's a pity, mem, you haven't got one." The nurse lifted up the
+fretful child.
+
+"It is--a pity." Esme's face was white and strained, the two patches of
+rouge standing out; she looked grey, old. "Oh, it is a pity, nurse,"
+she swayed.
+
+"Laws! Mrs Carteret, you're ill. It's this cruel heat. Sit you there,
+and I'll run in for salts or a little sal volatile."
+
+"No." Esme recovered herself. "No, nurse, thank you. It's only the
+heat. Well, take care of him; and better not tell her ladyship that I
+came over. She never likes my looking at the boy."
+
+Esme knew now--she knew what a fool she had been. How, snatching at her
+ease, her comfort, her enjoyment, she had lost the boy who brought love
+with him. There was nothing to be done, nothing to be said; she dared
+not tell at this stage. Bertie would never forgive her. She might even
+be denied, disproved, by some jugglery.
+
+She went heavily homewards, walking on the hot pavement.
+
+An electric limousine flashed by her; a smiling face bowed, a
+white-gloved hand was waved. Denise was going home to luncheon. Bond
+Street again, less crowded now. Esme saw a girl jump lightly from a
+taxi, turn to smile at someone inside. It was Sybil Chauntsey; the taxi
+passed Esme and pulled up; she saw Jimmie Gore Helmsley get out.
+
+Where had these two been so early? They had got out separately, as if
+concealment were necessary. What a fool the girl was! What a fool!
+
+Esme hailed a taxi; she was lunching at the Ritz, had asked three
+friends there. Bah! it would cost so much, and be over and forgotten in
+an hour.
+
+With a smile set on a weary face, Esme drove on. She would snatch at
+amusement more greedily than ever!
+
+At eight in the morning a great London station is fully awake, but not
+yet stifling and noisy; the cool air of the night still lurks about the
+platforms; the glass has not got hot; the early people are cool
+themselves.
+
+Bertie was up early so as to call for Estelle; his taxi sped to the
+quiet square where her aunt lived. A gloomy place, with tall houses
+standing in formidable respectability, where grave old butlers opened
+doors, and broughams and victorias still came round to take their
+owners for an airing.
+
+Estelle was on the doorstep, cool and fresh, one of the few people who
+can get up early without looking sleepy.
+
+They flew to Devonshire.
+
+"First class!" Estelle frowned as she saw her ticket. "Oh, Captain
+Carteret!"
+
+"This is my day," he pleaded. "To be economical travelling one must be
+economical in company. Come along."
+
+They had an empty carriage; going down to the restaurant for
+breakfast--a little gritty as train breakfasts are, but excellent.
+
+London slipped away; they ran past lush meadows, past placid streams,
+old farmhouses sheltered by trees. The countryside was alive with busy
+workers. Steel knives cut the grass and laid it in fragrant swathes.
+Steel teeth tossed it up through the hot, dry air. It was perfect
+weather for saving hay, for gathering the early harvest. The earth
+gives to us living, takes our clay to its heart when our spirits have
+left it.
+
+The heat mists swept up slowly from the world; fairy vapours floating
+heavenwards until the summer's day was clear in its sunlit beauty; and
+they tore into far Devon with the salt breath of the sea in the faint
+wind.
+
+A dogcart met them at the station; a short drive, with the sea pulsing
+far below them, brought them to Cliff End. An old house standing amid a
+blaze of flowers, it was its owner's whim to have it kept up as if he
+were living there. There were quaintly-shaped rooms, with windows flung
+wide. Estelle ran through them, getting her first glimpse of a true
+English home, while Bertie went over accounts and did his business.
+
+The housekeeper, a smiling dame, appeared breathlessly just as he came
+in.
+
+She was ashamed not to be there to meet them, but old bones moved
+slowly; she had been down to the Home Farm to see a sick child there.
+
+"We'm right glad to see your good lady at last," she smiled at Estelle,
+holding out a wrinkled hand. Mrs Corydon was a privileged friend of the
+family.
+
+"Not my good lady," Bertie said hurriedly, "a friend, Mrs Corydon." But
+his face changed suddenly; he grew red.
+
+Man is a being dependent on his dinner; their late luncheon was perfect
+of its kind. Grilled trout, chicken, Devonshire cream, and strawberries.
+
+"It's such a glorious old place." Estelle looked round the panelled
+room. "If one could live here one could be happy simply being alive."
+
+"Some people could," he said quietly. "Esme would die of boredom in a
+week."
+
+"Of boredom, with those flowers outside, with the sea crooning so
+close," she said.
+
+"But in winter," he answered, "there are no flowers, and the sea would
+roar."
+
+"Then there would be fires," said Estelle, "and hunting, and books; and
+always fresh air. I stifle in London."
+
+The day was a long joy to her, so deep it might have made her pause to
+think.
+
+They went to the hayfields, breathing in the scent of the fragrant
+grass; tossing it themselves, foolish, as children might have done;
+wandering off to the river where it whispered between rocky banks. A
+stretch of golden brown and silver clear, of dark shadow and plashing
+ripple, green-hued where the long weeds stretched their plumes beneath
+the water, eddying, swirling, gliding, until it spread out upon
+Trelawney Bay, and wandered lost amongst the sands, looking for the
+sea. Great ferns grew among the rocks; dog roses tangled in the hedges;
+sometimes a feeding trout would break a flat with his soft ploop-ploop
+as he sucked down the fly; or smaller fish would fling and plash in
+shallow places, making believe that they were great creatures as they
+fed.
+
+Bertie had asked for the tea to be sent out to them. It came in a
+basket, and they lighted a spirit lamp, laying it out close to the
+shimmering sea.
+
+Mrs Corydon had sent down wonderful cakes, splits and nun's puffs, and
+a jar of the inevitable cream. It was a feast eaten by two fools who
+forgot human nature.
+
+They gave the basket to the boy, wandered on to the cliffs. Here, with
+a meadow rippling in waves of green behind them, they sat down. It was
+cooler now. They sat in the shade of a high bank with the blue,
+diamond-spangled water far below, emerald-hued and indigo, where it
+lapped in shadow by the cliff. With the salt scent of it mingling with
+the scent of grass and flowers and hot sun-baked turf. Gulls wheeled
+screaming softly. They were quite alone in the glory of the country.
+
+Estelle, a little tired, lay back against the bank, dropped suddenly
+asleep; her slender browned hands lay close to Bertie; as she moved her
+head came almost against his shoulder, so that to make her more
+comfortable he moved a little to support it.
+
+A sudden thrill ran through him; her nearness, the touch of her cheek
+against his arm; her childish trust and abandon. The thrill was one of
+content followed by fear. What was he learning to feel for this girl
+from South Africa, this mere friend and companion?
+
+"Companion? Had Esme ever been one?" Looking back he realized that
+there are two sorts of love; one when man is ruled by man alone, and
+one when passion and friendship can walk hand in hand; a pair, once
+mated, whom death alone can part.
+
+He recalled his first meeting with his wife, and how her brilliant
+beauty had allured him.
+
+How she had taken his worship carelessly, as a thing of every day; and
+how always she had relied on her beauty as the natural power of woman
+without dreaming of any other. A touch of her round arms about his
+neck, a hot kiss--these were her arguments--arguments which, until
+lately, had never failed. If he talked of outside things she would pout
+and yawn, and bring him back to the centre of the world--her beauty.
+
+"There were other girls; tell me about them; were they as pretty as I
+am, Bert?"
+
+"Never--never!" he had to assure her. If he talked of the sunshine she
+would laugh and ask if it did not make her hair look red. Her hands,
+her feet, her fingers--she was never weary of having them praised. And
+yet she lacked the joy of losing herself in love; she had a merciless
+power of analysing emotion, because she did not feel it deeply herself.
+In all his transports, Bertie knew there had been something missing; he
+had been the lover, she content to be loved.
+
+The true companionship which can keep silence was never theirs.
+
+Now, with the sea of grass waving behind them, and the sea crooning,
+crooning, so far below, the man was afraid. Was there a second sort of
+love, and had he missed the best thing in life?
+
+He loved the clean airs of the country, sport of all kinds, a home to
+go to. Yet he must spend his days in close streets, in an eternal rush
+of entertainment and entertaining; to go home to a little portion of a
+great building, where he was merely one of the tenants of a flat.
+
+If no one was coming, the little drawing-room was left bare of flowers,
+neglected. Esme said she could not afford them every day. If he came
+home to tea, an injured maid brought him a cup of cold stuff, probably
+warmed from the morning's teapot, with two slices of bread and butter
+on a plate.
+
+This woman, sleeping so quietly, her long dark lashes lying on a
+sun-kissed cheek, would create a home, live in the quiet country, find
+companionship without eternal rushing about to her fellow-mortals;
+enjoy her month or two away, and then enjoy doubly the coming to her
+own home.
+
+Man, with his pipe in his mouth and sitting in silence, dreams
+foolishly as some growing girl.
+
+In Bertie's dream he saw Cliff End inhabited; he went round his farms,
+came back to the gardens to walk in them with a slender figure by his
+side, with a hundred things to think of, a hundred things to do. The
+simpler things which weld home life together. He saw toddling mites
+running to meet him, crying to their dada; a boy who must learn to swim
+and shoot and ride; a bonnie girl who would learn too, but less
+strenuously. He saw cold winter shut out, and two people who sat before
+a great fire, contented to sit still and talk or read. So thinking, the
+dream passed from waking; his eyes closed, and he, too, fell asleep.
+
+A man strolling along the cliffs paused suddenly, whistled and paused,
+looking down at the two.
+
+A sly-eyed, freckled youth, who whistled again, drew back, clicked the
+shutter of the camera he carried, and went on, laughing.
+
+"A pretty picture," he said contemptuously.
+
+Bertie awoke with the faint whistle in his ears--woke to find Estelle's
+ruffled head close against his own. He sat up, wondering how long he
+had been asleep.
+
+The freckled stranger was visible just dipping down to the steep path
+which led to the sea.
+
+"I hope he did not see us. Good Lord! I hope he did not see us!"
+
+Estelle woke too, coming from sleep as a child does, rose-flushed,
+blinking, rubbing her eyes.
+
+"Oh! I have been asleep," she cried, "wasting our day."
+
+"Our day," he said, as if the words hurt him.
+
+He pulled her to her feet. Estelle was not beautiful, but in her sweet,
+clear eyes, in the curve of her mouth, the soft brownness of her skin
+was something more dangerous than mere beauty. It was soul shining
+through her grey eyes, the power of love, the possibility of passion.
+It was intelligence, sympathy. Who wisely said some women make nets
+and others cages?
+
+Esme, Denise, Dollie, women of their type, could hold their cages out,
+catch a bird and watch it flutter, but, wearying of him, forget his
+sugar and his bird-seed, and leave the door open with the careless
+certainty of finding another capture.
+
+But with a net woven about him, a strong net made of such soft stuff
+that it did not hurt, the captive bird was caught for life, meshed,
+ensnared for ever.
+
+"Come--it is late," Bertie said.
+
+As his hands closed on hers, Estelle felt the flush on her cheeks
+deepen, her hands grow cold. There is a wonder to all in the dawn of
+love; with some it leaps from the cold night into a sudden glow, not so
+much dawn as a glorious revealing of the sun. It was so with Estelle;
+there was no trembling opal in her mental sky, no gradual melting of
+the mists of twilight. She knew. She loved this man. He was another
+woman's husband, but she loved him--would love him to her life's end.
+He must never know, and yet, being intensely human as he helped her up
+the bank, there was a sick longing that he might care too, even if it
+meant their instant parting.
+
+She fought it back; she was loyal and simple; her love must be her own;
+her joy and her despair.
+
+"Hurry, Estelle; we shall miss the train," he said. "It's very late."
+
+They were further away than they thought. The path by the river was
+rough; they ran panting up to the old house to see the man driving the
+dog-cart away from the door.
+
+"It bain't no use, sir," he said; "she'm near station now, and it's two
+mile an' more."
+
+"There's another?" Bertie said.
+
+There was one more, getting them into London at four next morning.
+Estelle was put out, half frightened. Her aunt would be annoyed.
+
+"But she will know it is an accident," she said. "And we can see the
+sea by moonshine now."
+
+They saw it as they drove to the slow train, a wide shimmer of mystery,
+silver and grey and opal, frostily chill, wondrously limitless; the
+hoarse whisper of its waves booming through the still night.
+
+"Esme! Will Esme mind?" Estelle asked as they steamed into London.
+
+"She has gone to several balls; she will never know," he said a little
+bitterly.
+
+He did not see Esme again until next evening. The knowledge of this new
+thing in his life made him penitent, anxious to find again the charm of
+the golden hair, of the brilliantly-tinted skin. He came from a long
+interview with his uncle, whipping himself with a mental switch;
+determined to be so strong that his friendship with Estelle might
+continue as it was--reasoning out that he had been mad upon the cliffs,
+half asleep and dreaming.
+
+He came in to find Esme in one of her restless moods, reading over
+letters, peevishly crumpling bills, grumbling at poverty. He did not
+know that the memory of a pinched baby face was always before her
+eyes--that she feared for the life of the son she had sold.
+
+"Why, Es," he said, and kissed her.
+
+"Don't rumple my hair," she answered; "it's done for dinner."
+
+"Worrying over bills?" he asked gently.
+
+Esme pulled away one letter which he had taken up. "I can pay them,"
+she flashed peevishly. "Don't worry." Denise's allowance was due
+again--overdue--and Esme did not like to write or telephone, and had
+not seen Lady Blakeney for a week.
+
+It was due to her, and overdue to others. Claire's bill ran in for four
+pungent pages, and ran to three figures, which did not commence with a
+unit. There were jewels, the motor hire. Oh! of what use was five
+hundred pounds?
+
+If she had had the boy here she would have gone to the country, been
+content for his sake.
+
+"Don't worry." Bertie put his hand on hers. "Es--I've been talking to
+Uncle Hugh."
+
+"Well?" She woke up, suddenly hopeful.
+
+"Well, I'm his nephew. He will make me a big allowance, leave me all he
+has--if--"
+
+"If what?" cried Esme.
+
+"If we have a son before he dies," said Bertie. "That is the only
+stipulation. If not, I remain as I am. He has some craze about another
+Hugh Carteret. Of course there will be the title later on."
+
+"If we have a son." Esme stood up and laughed. "A son!" she said, "a
+son! I--"
+
+"Why, Esme!" Bertie ran to her. "Oh, don't cry like that. My dear,
+don't cry like that."
+
+The wild outburst of a woman in hysterics filled the little room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+"OH, of course, I'd forgotten." Denise had been reminded of her
+promise--looked vaguely annoyed. "H'm! I'm short now. Can't ask Cyrrie,
+can I? I'll bring you two hundred, Esme! Give you some more in August,
+my quarter day."
+
+"But I want it. I've run into debt counting on it," said Esme, sullenly.
+
+"Oh, you've got old Hugh to fall back on now Bertie's the heir. If I
+could ask Cyrrie--but I can't! Two hundred's a lot, Esme. You must make
+it do."
+
+"You'll be away in August," Esme said. "You can't send me so much in a
+cheque."
+
+"No. I'll get notes. I'll be sure to. I shall be at home. Wonders will
+never cease. I've got to keep very quiet just now," said Denise. "It's
+wonderful--and I'm not afraid."
+
+"Oh!" Esme sat up. "And--if it's a son, Denise, your own son--you--what
+will you do?"
+
+"Yet must the alien remain the heir." Denise shrugged her shoulders. "I
+should never dare to tell. You don't know Cyrrie. He'd send me away
+somewhere with three hundred a year, and never see or speak to me
+again. For Heaven's sake, Es, remember that. Besides, it would all take
+some proving now."
+
+"Be good to my boy or I'll claim him," said Esme, stormily.
+
+"Hush! Es. Don't!" Denise looked terrified. "And you dare not, either.
+Your Bertie would not forgive. Look here! I've got a pendant I don't
+want; take it and sell it. It's worth two hundred. And I'll scrape out
+three for you somehow. Oh, here's Cyrrie."
+
+The big man came in. There was a sense of power about him and of
+relentless purpose. His under jaw, his deeply-set eyes, were those of a
+man who, once roused, could be cruel, and even merciless.
+
+"Hello! Mrs Carteret." He was always cordial to Esme. "We've missed you
+lately. Den, the boy's peaky--wants fresh air, his nurse says."
+
+Esme turned white, clenched her hands until her gloves split and burst.
+
+"Send him to the sea," said Denise, carelessly. "Broadstairs, Cromer,
+anywhere, Cyrrie."
+
+"No, I think we'll go home. It's better for you too." Sir Cyril's big
+jaw shot out. "We'll go home, Den. I've wired, and the boy can go on
+to-morrow. Drive down, it will do him good, in the big car."
+
+"Oh!" Esme saw that Denise objected, hated going, yet was afraid to
+object once her husband had decided.
+
+"Oh, I'm glad you're sending him out of London," Esme burst out. "He
+looks wretched. I am glad."
+
+"He's your godson, isn't he?" laughed Blakeney. "You were good then,
+Mrs Carteret. Seen to-day's paper? That little fool of a Cantilupe
+woman has made a mess of it, and Cantilupe was right to take it to
+court. Seen the evidence? She forged his name to a cheque for five
+hundred to give to this wretched man. Trusted to Canty's absolute
+carelessness. He never looked at accounts. But the bank grew uneasy,
+'phoned to Canty, and he said it was his signature all right and paid.
+Then he found out where the money had gone to, and all the rest, and
+she defended like a fool. The kindest fellow in the world, but he's
+merciless now. Told about the cheque so as to shame her."
+
+"She was his wife. He should have remembered that," faltered Denise.
+
+"She had deceived him," Sir Cyril answered. "No man worth the name
+forgets that. She deceived him. I couldn't forgive five minutes of it,
+especially as there are no children; not that sort of deceit. I was
+even too hard on folly once, but that's different." He went out of the
+room, big and strong and determined.
+
+"Bother that boy!" stormed Denise. "There are three or four things I
+hate missing. Oh, bother! bother!" She stamped her foot in her
+impatience, frowning and biting at her fingers. "Oh, here, Esme. Come
+to my room."
+
+The maid was there, laying out a new gown.
+
+"You can go, Sutton. Here! slip it away." Denise opened a case, pulled
+out a heavy pendant, a tasteless, valuable thing.
+
+"Old Susan, Cyrrie's aunt, sent it to me when she heard I was a
+mother." Denise laughed. "Green said it was worth three hundred. I've
+loads of others, and no one will miss this. I'll get you the notes."
+
+Denise was friendly again, more like her old self, but moved, as Esme
+knew, by fear, and not by gratitude or love.
+
+Denise was called to the telephone. Esme was left alone for a time in
+the luxurious bedroom, standing by the open safe, enviously fingering
+the jewels. How lovely they were. A necklace of diamonds and emeralds;
+Cartier work; a jewelled snake with ruby eyes. A rope of pearls.
+Sapphires, opals, emeralds, all glowing as Esme opened the cases.
+
+"Oh, I thought her ladyship was here, mem," the maid had come in
+quietly. Esme turned with a start.
+
+"Her ladyship went to the telephone." Esme closed her hand about the
+pendant, which she had been holding carelessly. She could see the maid
+watching her covertly.
+
+"Oh, there you are, Denise." Esme still held the heavy pendant, afraid
+to put it in her bag before the maid, afraid to show it.
+
+"Yes. I'm late too. Cyril's waiting. We're lunching out. My hat,
+Sutton, my veil, quickly!"
+
+Esme slipped the pendant into her bag as the maid turned away. The
+Blakeneys drove her to Jules, where she said she would be lunching.
+
+But, not hungry, she went on to Benhusan, a well-known jeweller,
+offering her pendant.
+
+The head man took it, looking at the heavy stones.
+
+"Yes, we could give two hundred for this, to break up. It's tasteless."
+He examined it carefully. "Came from us, originally," he said. "We all
+have our private mark, madam. Made to order, no doubt. I'll speak to Mr
+Benhusan, madam. One moment."
+
+Esme flushed with annoyance. They might look up the pendant, perhaps
+speak of it to someone.
+
+She got two hundred and thirty for it and went out.
+
+Mr Benhusan nodded at the heavy bauble. "It was made for the Dowager
+Lady Blakeney," he said. "I remember it. The centre stone is worth all
+the money we have given for it."
+
+Absently, with a lack of her usual shrewdness, Esme went to the door,
+opened it, and remembered her notes; they had paid her.
+
+She had put three into her bag, when a thin hand shot out, grabbed the
+rest, and before she could even cry out, the thief was lost in the
+crowd.
+
+Esme stood stricken, shaking more with futile anger than anything else.
+Her brains were quick. If she went back, raised the hue and cry, what
+then? Bertie would ask her what pendant she was selling. The whole
+thing would come out.
+
+Esme walked away, her face white, her hands shaking. She counted what
+was left at her club in Dover Street; three notes for fifty each. So
+she was robbed of over a hundred, and someone must go unpaid. Unless
+Denise would make it up. There was too much loyalty in Esme to think of
+working on her friend's fears. She sat brooding, smoking, too much
+upset to eat. A boy she knew came in, noticed her white cheeks--a thin
+and somewhat stupid youth, who posed as a Don Juan, considered himself
+irresistible.
+
+"Not lookin' a bit well," he said. "No luncheon? Come along down to the
+Berkeley and have a little champagne. Let me look after you, dear lady."
+
+Esme was a beauty; he walked proudly with her, looking at her dazzling
+colouring, her well-formed, supple limbs.
+
+She let herself be distracted by flattery, listened to foolish
+compliment, to praise of her glorious hair, her beautiful eyes.
+
+Wouldn't she come for a drive some Sunday? The new Daimler was a dear.
+Down to Brighton or away into the country for a picnic. She must let
+him see more of her.
+
+Angy Beerhaven leant across the table, _empresse_, showing how ready he
+was to love, to be a devoted friend.
+
+Over champagne and sandwiches Esme babbled a little, told of her loss,
+of how hard up she was.
+
+With sympathy discreetly veiled behind his cigarette smoke, Angy
+hinted. Pretty women need never be hard up. Fellows would only find it
+a pleasure to make life easy for them if--there was friendship, real
+friendship, between good pals.
+
+The restaurant was almost empty; they sat in a quiet corner. With wits
+suddenly sharpened, Esme looked at the thin, weakly vicious face, at
+the boy's eyes glittering over her beauty, already seeing himself
+chosen. His carefully-tended hands were opening his gold
+cigarette-case. She shuddered. If she allowed those hands the right to
+caress her she could be free of debt and care--for a time.
+
+Love affairs were butterflies of a season. Next year it would have to
+be someone else; there would be the distraction of it, the adoration
+which always pleases a woman; and then the fading, the breaking free.
+The meeting again with a careless good-morning, with the shame searing
+her soul as she remembered.
+
+Distraction, a little less time to think, was what Esme wanted. She saw
+too clearly for this. She had sold one birthright without thought; but
+not this second one of her self-respect.
+
+She got up, smiling sweetly. It had been charming of Mr Beerhaven to
+look after her; she was feeling so much better now.
+
+"But," he stood in front of her in her corner; she could see the eager
+look on his face. "But--she must let him go on taking care of her.
+Wouldn't she dine with him to-night? Do a theatre--have supper
+afterwards?"
+
+Angy unadulterated from seven until one! Esme smiled.
+
+Unfortunately she was engaged, all day, every day this week. But would
+he lunch on Sunday? They were having a little party at the Ritz. He
+would meet her husband.
+
+The eager look changed to one of sulky indecision. Angy Beerhaven was
+not sure if he could. If she'd have tea with him to-morrow he'd tell
+her.
+
+Esme promised to lightly; went away leaving the boy frowning.
+
+"Is she one of your real stand-offs, or just wants to put a value on
+herself?" he muttered. "Bah! It's too much trouble if she does--pretty
+as she is."
+
+Clutching the rest of her money, Esme strolled about aimlessly; she
+gave up two engagements, would not go to her club because she was too
+restless to talk to her friends. Turned in at last to a tea-shop, where
+brown curtains made little alcoves, and thick blinds shaded the light.
+There were three or four tiny rooms, one opening from the other; the
+first where the decorous matron might sit and drink tea and eat
+muffins; the second and third where one could smoke; these rooms were
+separated by portieres of Indian beads, rattling as one passed through.
+
+Tired, her head aching from the champagne, Esme went to the second
+room, sat down in a dim corner just by the door into the last, and
+ordered tea. It made her head clearer; she smoked, thinking deeply.
+
+Voices drifted to her from the inner room. It was a mere cupboard, kept
+in semi-darkness.
+
+She listened at length, listened with a start.
+
+"Is it safe here by the door?"
+
+The beads rattled. She heard Jimmie Gore Helmsley's voice.
+
+"Only a few people get away. It's early yet. Look here, Syl, meet me at
+Brighton on Sunday. Do! We'll have a lovely day. I'll have a
+cousin--she lives there--to do propriety. Make some excuse and get off.
+We never have a day together."
+
+"But if people heard of it?" Sybil Chauntsey faltered.
+
+"No one will. No one we know goes to Brighton on Sundays, and if they
+do we are just taking a stroll. Do, Sybil! I deserve something. I--I
+wasn't hard-hearted over those bridge debts now, was I?"
+
+Poor Sybil, with her hand pressed to her throat. She owed this man two
+hundred pounds now. If he went to her people she would be sent home in
+disgrace.
+
+"No," she whispered. "No."
+
+"We'll wipe 'em out for ever if you'll be a good child and have a
+simple spree. I'll give you back your I.O.U., your letters."
+
+Her letters. Sybil knew that she had written two foolish, girlishly
+gushing notes, open to several constructions. In one she had spoken of
+that ripping tea at his rooms. She shivered again.
+
+"I'll let you know," she faltered. "Oh! I'll try to come."
+
+Esme listened, but heard no more. Moving silently she slipped away to
+the blind-shaded window and got there just as the two came out. Her
+back was to them, her head hidden in a hastily-snatched-up newspaper.
+They did not notice her.
+
+Tragedy and comedy were being played out, to each their lines and part.
+
+Denise Blakeney, dressing for dinner, had to play her part without
+rehearsal.
+
+"The sapphires, Sutton," she said, "the sapphires and diamonds. They'll
+go with this cream gown. And the aigrette with the sapphire stars."
+
+Sutton's prim voice rose a little as she bent over the safe.
+
+"Are you wearing the heavy diamond pendant, m'lady?"
+
+"No." Denise flushed, bending over something on the dressing-table to
+hide her rising colour.
+
+"It's not here, m'lady, and it was here at luncheon-time when I gave
+you the pink pearls."
+
+"What's that?" Sir Cyril, big-jowled, heavy, strolled in.
+
+Sutton repeated the news of the loss, turning over the cases. "The case
+is here," she said, "but I noticed it open."
+
+"The pendant old Aunt Sukey sent?" Sir Cyril went to the safe himself.
+"That's valuable."
+
+"I--it must be there somewhere. Lock the safe, Sutton." Denise would
+have told the maid she had sent the pendant to be cleaned. Cyril was
+one of the men who question closely. It would have been: "To which
+shop, Den? I could get it for you to-morrow."
+
+"It must be there," she repeated sharply. "It's just muddled away; or I
+may have lost it. I'm very careless."
+
+"We'll look to-morrow. It's time to go now." But big Cyril Blakeney
+stood still for a minute, staring at the safe; thoughts which he longed
+to smother rising in him.
+
+He had seen Esme Carteret bending over the safe, fingering the jewels.
+She could not ... it was a monstrous thing!
+
+He put the idea away resolutely as though it were some crawling beast;
+came down to where his wife was getting into her motor.
+
+"You must have dropped it," he said slowly, "but I thought you never
+wore the thing. We'll offer a reward."
+
+"Oh, very well," Denise Blakeney answered nervously, pulling at the
+buttons of her gloves. "Oh, I may find it to-morrow. Wait and see. I
+often stuff things away into other places, if I am in a hurry."
+
+"Esme Carteret"--Denise could see the big, heavy face thrust forward,
+as Sir Cyril lighted a cigarette--"Esme Carteret is--er--pretty well
+off, isn't she, now that old Hugh's sons are dead?"
+
+"She says she's racked by poverty." Denise flushed and faltered at this
+mistake.... "Oh, yes, of course, he makes her a splendid allowance; he
+must, or Esme could not go about as she does."
+
+"You're an extravagant little monkey yourself," said Sir Cyril,
+equably. "I asked Richards a fortnight ago what your balance was, and
+he said five hundred. Yesterday I was in at the bank and he told me it
+was only a hundred."
+
+"I paid bills and things." Denise was not enjoying her drive. Supposing
+this inquisitive husband of hers looked at her bank-book and saw a
+cheque for two hundred to self. He would ask what she had spent it on;
+if she had gambled? He was curiously particular about high play, and
+women losing foolishly.
+
+Denise thought that she would change her bank; then knew again that she
+would be forbidden to. Cyril was indulgent, almost absurdly generous,
+but master in his own home. And--if he ever guessed--ever knew--Denise
+grew cold with chill fear; for, combined with dread, her shallow nature
+clung now to the big man beside her; she had forgotten her follies in
+the past.
+
+It is a shallow nature's joy, it has power to forget.
+
+On several separate stages the dramas and comedies were being played
+out, but in one great last act they might all come together for the
+finale, and be called true tragedy then.
+
+Sybil Chauntsey was playing her little part. Half frightened, half
+resentful, trying to call herself a baby, to tell her awakening woman's
+mind that Jimmie Gore Helmsley was only her pal, that she was a fool to
+think otherwise. And then the look in the black eyes, the little subtle
+caresses he had given her, gave this the lie.
+
+Sybil would not go to a dance that evening; she pleaded headache, sat
+in her stuffy room, looking out across the hot slates, thinking.
+
+She was afraid. Who would help her now to pay this man and so get out
+of his power? She had learned to dread him.
+
+She jumped up suddenly, ran to her writing-table. Old memories crowded
+back to her, her first years of coming out, when she had been so happy.
+She saw the library at the Holbrooks', felt warm young hands on hers,
+heard a voice saying:
+
+"But if you are ever in any trouble, if you want help, send for me. I
+shall always be ready."
+
+Her young soldier lover would help her now; and with wet eyes above the
+paper she wrote on, Sybil knew how she would turn to him again. How
+gifts of flowers and sweets, expensive dinners and suppers, stolen
+interviews for tea and subtle flattery, had lost their charm.
+
+She only wrote a few lines, posted it to York, where his regiment was
+stationed; she wanted his help, urgently; would he come to her _at
+once_?
+
+So the hot curtain of night fell on another act for Sybil.
+
+Esme had gone home after tea, found Bertie there, resting in the
+flowerless drawing-room.
+
+With nerves strung up, with her hidden excitement wearing her out, she
+came to him, threw herself suddenly on her knees beside him, laid her
+face against his, tried to wake the thrill which the touch of his lips
+had given her once.
+
+Bertie, surprised, drew her to him, kissing the red mouth.
+
+It had been innocent of lip salve when he had kissed them first; her
+soft cheeks had not been plastered with expensive creams and powder. As
+hungry people imagine feasts, so Esme sought for forgetfulness in
+passionate kisses, in new transports of love. Sought--and found no
+place. It seemed to her that Bertie had grown cold, that he no longer
+cared for her. He had never been a sensualist, only an honest lover.
+
+Whispered hints of Gore Helmsley's, little stories he had told her,
+came to her as she rested her cheek against her husband's.
+
+"Dear old Es," he said affectionately, but not passionately. "Dear old
+butterfly, it's nice to have my girlie loving again; but we'll be late
+for dinner if we don't dress quickly. Es, call your maid."
+
+Esme rang listlessly; she hardly knew what she wanted, save that it was
+something which would wipe away her bitter thoughts.
+
+Through dinner she was recklessly merry, witty in her flashing way;
+brilliantly, a little haggardly, pretty. The patches of pink were more
+pronounced on her cheeks, her powder thicker.
+
+Then, driving home in the cool, she remembered Sybil Chauntsey. Here
+was another woman about to make a mistake, to realize too late, as she
+had done, that money cannot repay peace of mind. Deep, too, in Esme's
+mind, was a horror of sinning. She was instinctively pure herself; her
+ideas set deeply in a bed of conventionality. A girl of Sybil's type
+would suffer all her life if she once slipped, perhaps afterwards grow
+completely reckless, look on her one sin as so deadly that a host of
+others could matter little, and might drown thought.
+
+Esme forgot Sybil until Sunday morning. Angy Beerhaven had proved
+himself in earnest, had almost insisted on a trip in his new car.
+"Bring anyone--your husband and a friend," he said.
+
+Esme had agreed heartily. There was Estelle; she would like the drive.
+As the huge cream-coloured Daimler hummed softly at her door, Angy
+asked where they would go to.
+
+"The sea would be lovely to-day," he said. "Or there are the Downs or
+the Forest."
+
+"The sea!" Esme shot out swiftly. "The sea!" she said.
+
+"Then Brighton. It's a nice run; there are decent hotels. One only gets
+cold beef and cutlets in heaps of places."
+
+"Brighton let it be," she said carelessly.
+
+The Daimler seemed a live monster purring as she flew along the smooth
+roads, laughing at her hills, answering sweetly to her brakes, swinging
+her great length contemptuously past weaker sisters.
+
+The salt kiss of the sea was on their faces as they dipped into
+Brighton.
+
+"We'll run out again afterwards," Angy said; "get a good blow."
+
+Esme had been a merry companion on the way down.
+
+Strolling on the front, Esme started suddenly. Sybil might be here; she
+remembered the conversation now. In the huge place it would be almost
+impossible to find her. Jimmie would not come to the best-known hotels.
+
+But if she could--it would be worth some trouble.
+
+Esme's fit of boredom vanished. She was full of plans. They would run
+off for a long run, come back to tea, dine again in Brighton and go
+home in the cool.
+
+"They'll be quite happy anywhere," she said, nodding towards Estelle
+and Bertie. "We can go off by ourselves."
+
+Angy's hopes grew deeper. His fatuously ardent glances were more
+frequent. He whispered eager nonsense to Esme, hinted at happy future
+drives and meetings, of lending her the car altogether if she liked.
+
+To have a sixty Daimler at one's disposal would be convenient, but as
+it would generally include Angy Beerhaven as chauffeur, Esme shrugged
+her shoulders. A taxi suited her better, though she did not say so.
+
+After tea she grew restless; wanted to see other hotels, to inspect
+Brighton. The Metropole was too crowded.
+
+"Come with me," she said to Angy; "we'll prospect, and telephone here
+if we find some nest which suits me."
+
+A cabman gave her information.
+
+"Quiet hotels, but smart, nice? He'd tell of one, yes, miss, he would."
+
+It was only as they went on that Esme realized the smirk of innuendo on
+the man's red face.
+
+"Often driven parties there as wanted to be quiet an' comfabul," said
+Jehu, taking a shilling graciously. "Thank you, lady, and good luck."
+
+Esme went to two or three places, read the dinner menu carefully, made
+Angy wonder what restless spirit possessed her, then came to the
+jarvey's recommendation, a small hotel facing the sea, standing
+modestly behind a long strip of garden. The garden was full of roses
+and shrubs, so that the porch was almost concealed.
+
+The lady peering out of the little office was unmistakably French.
+
+"Madame wished to see the dinner menu--but certainly! Madame would want
+a private room, no doubt; the coffee-room was small and the tables
+already crowded."
+
+"It is a hotel of private rooms," said Esme to herself. She went on to
+a small, dimly-lighted veranda, set with huge palms and
+cunningly-placed nooks. She paused abruptly.
+
+"I must go back! Oh, I must!" said Sybil's voice. "We shall miss the
+train--please let me."
+
+"My cousin cannot be any time. Most annoying her being out all day.
+Don't spoil a perfect day, little Sybil. There's a late train we can
+catch. Or, better still, hire a car and drive up."
+
+Esme turned swiftly to her somewhat bewildered cavalier.
+
+"Oh, Mr Beerhaven," she said. "Will you go to the telephone--order
+dinner at the Metropole, and see if they have quails--and peaches. It's
+the best place, after all. I'll wait here for you. Hurry, or they won't
+have shot the quails."
+
+Angy left, ruminating on the logic of women.
+
+"But give me my letters," she heard Sybil plead. "Please do! You
+promised them if I came here to-day."
+
+"I promised--I will fulfil. After dinner you shall have your letters,
+little girl. Now, don't get silly and nervous."
+
+"Of course I'll send you that money when I can," Sybil faltered, "but--"
+
+"I won't ask you for the money. You were a good child to come here,
+little Sybil."
+
+Esme looked in.
+
+Sybil was lying back in a long chair, her face white, her eyes half
+resentful, half fascinated. Jimmie Helmsley, bending over her, began to
+stroke her hands softly. His dark eyes bore no half thoughts in them.
+
+"After dinner," he whispered. "I won't tease you any more about that
+silly debt."
+
+Esme pushed aside a spiky frond; she was righteously angry.
+
+"Oh, Sybil," she said. "Your mother asked me if I came across you to
+take you home in our car. I was sampling hotels and luckily ran you to
+earth."
+
+Sybil sprang up. Resentment, fascination, merged to sudden wild relief.
+She had told her mother that she was spending the day with a school
+friend.
+
+"But--How very lucky your running across us." Gore Helmsley's teeth
+showed too much as he smiled; it made his greeting exceedingly like a
+snarl.
+
+"Oh, yes, so lucky." Esme listened to Helmsley's pattered explanation.
+"His cousin, Mrs Gore, etc. Very awkward. Out of Brighton. They had
+come here to wait for her."
+
+"Very awkward," said Esme, drily. "Well, you must join us at dinner.
+You can't wait here--alone."
+
+A waiter padded noiselessly in. Dinner would be ready in ten minutes in
+Number Twenty-seven. They had procured the roses which Monsieur had
+ordered.
+
+It amused Esme a little to watch Gore Helmsley fight back his anger,
+mask himself in a moment in a thin cloak of carelessness. He followed
+the waiter into the hall.
+
+"Sybil," said Esme, sharply, "this is not wise, not right."
+
+"We came to meet a cousin," Sybil whimpered. "She never came. I had to
+come--I had to. And now he's angry." She shivered a little, half
+tearful, half frightened.
+
+"No, she would not come," said Esme, drily; "but lie as I lie, my
+child, or there may be some pretty stories floating about London."
+
+"Oh! you've ordered dinner," she said to Angy, "and I've just found
+Miss Chauntsey. She was dining with Captain Helmsley's cousin, Mrs
+Gore. But she is putting her off and joining our party at the
+Metropole."
+
+Mr Beerhaven opened his mouth twice without emitting any particular
+sound.
+
+"She's just gone home, hasn't she, Sybil?" said Esme. "Quite a pretty
+woman. Come along."
+
+Again Angy opened his mouth and shut it. It was not his part to say
+that he knew Mrs Gore to be in London. Angy was not altogether
+bad-hearted and he disliked Jimmie Gore Helmsley.
+
+"Rotten!" said Mr Beerhaven, speaking at last.
+
+"Eh?" said Esme, sharply.
+
+"Rotten luck, y'know, on Mrs Gore, but so glad. We'd better drive back.
+And a rotten chap," said Angy, forcibly. "You're a brick, Mrs
+Carteret." This speech made Esme understand that Angy Beerhaven was not
+as big a fool as he looked.
+
+In the cab Sybil leant back, frightened. She was afraid of Gore
+Helmsley's too-pleasant smile--afraid of the look in his eyes.
+
+Esme had whispered a few swiftly-spoken words to him, directing that
+their lies should be alike.
+
+"It was exceedingly awkward," she said drily.
+
+Angy had ordered everything he could think of. They began on iced
+caviare and finished up with forced peaches. He was exceedingly rich,
+and a snare wrought of gold was the only one he knew of.
+
+Sybil was quiet through dinner, eating nothing, visibly unhappy.
+
+Afterwards, as they sat in the cool, smoking, Gore Helmsley slipped to
+her side.
+
+"Was there ever anything so unlucky?" he said.
+
+"It was--very unlucky," said Sybil, dully.
+
+"That woman hunting round for dinner, so she says. She's fairly decent,
+I fancy, won't blab. She lied brilliantly. It was so very awkward, and
+now Cissy will be quite disappointed. She 'phoned to say she was just
+starting to meet us. It was a lovely day together," he whispered. "Come
+to tea with me to-morrow, Sybil."
+
+"You promised me my letters," she shot out, her heart thumping, "and my
+I.O.U. Give them to me."
+
+"To-morrow," he said lightly. "I would have given them to you to-night,
+Sybil. Silly child ever to sign things."
+
+Sybil's lip trembled; the snare was about her feet.
+
+A tall man pushed his way through the crowd, looking anxiously at the
+tables. He was covered with the dust of a long journey; he came
+quickly, staring at each group.
+
+"Oliver!" Sybil sprang to her feet, rushed across to him. "Oh, Captain
+Knox, why did you not come yesterday?"
+
+"I only got back to York this morning. I motored to London, and it took
+me hours to find your mother. Who is that--in the shadow?"
+
+"Captain Gore Helmsley." Sybil's voice grew shrill.
+
+"And Sybil is here with me," said Esme, coming out of another shadow.
+"Take her for a walk before we start. I want to talk to my friend here."
+
+"Sybil--why did you write for me like that?"
+
+"I wanted you to save me, and you never came," she faltered.
+
+"But I am not too late. My God, not that!"
+
+Then, stumblingly, she told him her story of sorrow.
+
+"I was going to ask you to pay the debt for me," she said, "to get me
+clear. I dare not tell my mother or father."
+
+"I brought money, as you said you wanted it; and there is nothing more,
+Sybil?" he said, taking her hands.
+
+"Nothing. We spent the day here--waiting for Mrs Gore. And oh, I was
+afraid."
+
+"Mrs Gore is in London. I saw her as I was looking for your mother."
+
+"In London!" Sybil's cheeks grew very white. It had all been a lie. She
+would have dined at the small hotel, waiting for the woman who could
+never have joined them. And afterwards, alone with the man she feared
+and yet who influenced her.
+
+Sybil was no innocent fool; the blackness of the chasm she had just
+missed sliding into was plainly before her eyes.
+
+She flung herself suddenly into Knox's arms.
+
+"Oh, Oliver, if you want me still, take me," she sobbed, "for I am a
+fool, and not fit to look after myself. I don't mind being poor; I only
+want you."
+
+Captain Gore Helmsley, meanwhile, was listening to a few softly-uttered
+home-truths from Esme Carteret.
+
+"You might have ruined the child's reputation," she said angrily. "She
+was a fool to come here with you. Married women are fair game, Jimmie,
+but a girl has not learnt how to guard. It's not fair."
+
+Sybil, with the frightened look gone from her eyes, came back to the
+table on the veranda.
+
+"I owe you some money, Captain Gore Helmsley," she said clearly, "for
+bridge debts. It was good of you to let it stand over." She laid a
+cheque on the table. "Will you give me back my acknowledgments? Oliver
+is paying for me--we are going to be married."
+
+Jimmie, smiling sweetly, pulled out his pocketbook, took from it a
+neatly-folded paper.
+
+"And--two letters--referring to the debt," said Sybil, steadily.
+
+"Not altogether to the debt." Jimmie laughed. "You are as unkind now,
+Miss Chauntsey, as you are dramatic."
+
+"I want them," she said coldly. "You gave me your promise that I should
+have them back."
+
+Jimmie took out the letters.
+
+"I am giving them to Oliver to read, and then we'll burn them," she
+said simply.
+
+"Oh, hang it!" said Gore Helmsley, blankly; "this _has_ been a nice
+evening!"
+
+"In which you got your dinner and desserts," flashed Esme, laughing
+openly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+A solemn child, healthy in body, but with wistful eyes, paddled his
+spade into wet shingly sand at Bournemouth. He was precociously wise,
+already given to thought, to wondering as children wonder.
+
+What Cyril wondered was why there were so many scold words in the
+world? Why it was always, "Don't, Cyril!" and "Cyril, run away!" or
+"Cyril, I will not have you rough to your brother."
+
+Why mother, who was a beautiful thing, would catch up little Cecil and
+look so bitterly at him, and on more bitterly still to Cyril.
+
+"Funny how her ladyship adores Master Cecil," Mrs Stanson would confide
+to the under-nurse; "being delicate, I suppose."
+
+Cyril was heir to four places, to grouse moors and fishings, to
+diamonds and plate and pictures, all entailed. Cecil would have a
+younger son's ample portion, and no more. Cecil was puny, a weakling;
+his father sighed over him.
+
+Paddling his spade, Baby Cyril came round the castle, brushed a little
+roughly against Baby Cecil; the spoilt child fell and whimpered.
+
+"Cyril sorry. I sorry, Cecil."
+
+"Cyril, you rough little wretch!" Lady Blakeney leant forward, slapping
+the boy harshly. "You little bully!"
+
+"I"--Cyril touched the white place which stung on his soft cheek, the
+white which turned to dull red. "I--" His mouth quivered, but he said
+nothing, merely looked out at the heaving sea.
+
+The pathos in his child's eyes might have touched anyone but a mother
+jealous of another woman's child, storming behind a rage which must be
+hidden.
+
+Esme Carteret's baby must oust Denise's son from his kingdom.
+
+"Ah, Denise! How can you?" A pained cry, another woman springing
+forward, catching the slapped baby to her. "Denise! How can you!"
+
+"Why not, Esme? He's a born bully. Bad-tempered, always hurting Cecil.
+A great strong tyrant."
+
+The women's eyes met with anger and dislike flashing in both glances.
+
+It was not altogether chance which had brought Esme to Bournemouth. She
+hunted health now, strove for what once had been hers to trifle
+with--hunted health and peace, and found neither.
+
+Denise's payments were desultory; she had to show outward civility to
+Esme to make up for the half-yearly hush-money. Sir Cyril had houses at
+Bournemouth; she had offered one to the Carterets for nothing.
+
+"Poor Esme, Cyril. I told her she might have the little lodge. She's
+looking wretched."
+
+"She's the most restless being on earth. Of course, Den; give it to
+her. If she had a pair of boys, now, as you have."
+
+"Yes." Denise had to hide the pain in her eyes, for with Cecil's birth
+had come a fierce mother-love, making the careless indifference which
+she had felt for Cyril turn to bitter dislike. He got the measles,
+brought it to her boy, who almost died of it; whooping-cough, before
+the child was old enough to bear it well.
+
+They were down at Blakeney Court when Denise told her husband that she
+had lent Esme the lodge. The boys were playing outside; the little one
+crawling solemnly, Cyril arranging sticks and flowers into a pattern.
+
+"He's got an extraordinary look of someone," said Sir Cyril. "Cecil's a
+true Blakeney, if he wasn't so delicate; but Cyril's finer--not like
+us; he mopes and dreams already."
+
+If there were no Cyril! Denise clenched her hands, understood how men
+felt before they brushed aside some life in their path. That day was
+wet later; she found the children playing in the picture-gallery, with
+Nurse Stanson showing a friend the Romneys and the Gainsboroughs, and
+other treasures which represented a fortune.
+
+Cyril loved one cavalier, painted on a fiery charger, an impossible
+beast, all tail and eyes and nostril. The boy was happy staring at the
+picture, patting at the great frame. "Cyrrie's man," he would say.
+"Cyrrie's man."
+
+"Oh, Cyril's man--all Cyril's men," Denise flashed out furiously. "No
+men for Cecil."
+
+"Cecil not care for Cyril's man, mummie," the child's eyes looked
+wistfully at Denise. "He never look up yet."
+
+"Oh, they'll all be yours--gloat over it!" snapped Denise. "Take your
+friend on, Mrs Stanson; show her the picture of Lady Mary Blakeney--the
+one by Lely. Yes, all yours!" Half unconsciously she pushed Cyril; he
+slipped on the polished floor, slid toward the fireplace, fell with his
+yellow head not three inches from the old stone kerb.
+
+Nurse Stanson ran to him, screaming. Demon-driven, Denise had watched.
+If--if--the little pate had hit the hard, cold stone, if her boy had
+been left heir.
+
+"All right, mummie--Cyril not hurt," he had said, bravely, as he got up.
+
+And now--they were playing at Bournemouth, and Baby Cyril had come
+through croup, with the best doctors in London striving against King
+Death for the life of Sir Cyril's heir.
+
+How many children would have died in the wheezing, cruel struggle! At
+heart it made Denise a murderess, and she hated herself for it.
+
+"You--you are cruel to that child," Esme said. "You are, Denise. Take
+care."
+
+Two small, sand-dusted hands pushed her away. Cyril backed with dignity.
+
+"Mummie only made a miftook, tank you," he said--"only a miftook."
+
+He was loyal to the woman who hated him. Her child, yet he pushed her
+away, would not accept the clinging tenderness of her hands. Esme sat
+down again, her eyes hard and bitter.
+
+The years had changed her greatly. Her dazzling beauty had not so much
+faded as hardened. Her eyes were still bright, her hair gold; but the
+flush of red-and-white was all art now; her mouth had tightened; the
+brightness of her blue eyes was that of aching restlessness.
+
+She had tried rest cures and come away half maddened by the quiet, by
+her leisure to think. She had travelled and come home to England
+because the boy was there.
+
+Sometimes she would turn to Bertie, show the same half-wild outbursts
+of tenderness which she had first shown on the day she had sold the
+pendant; trying to find comfort in his caresses, clinging to him,
+pouring out tender words. Then the phase would pass. Without perfect
+confidence perfect love cannot exist. There was a secret between them;
+they were lovers no longer. For weeks she would go her own careless
+way, spending recklessly, always in debt, paying off the mites on
+account which make debts rolling snowballs, mounting until they crush
+the maker.
+
+Sometimes Denise was difficult to get at; sometimes she said she was
+afraid of Sir Cyril. The boy's price came in small sums, fifties,
+twenties; often frittered away on a day or two's foolish amusement.
+
+Old Hugh Carteret made his will, left it ready for signature.
+
+"When you have a child, Bertie, I will leave you everything," he said,
+"and make your allowance up to what my boys had." He sighed as he spoke
+of his loss.
+
+Esme would have welcomed a child now--a mite to wipe out Cyril's
+memory, but none came to her.
+
+She had taken to concealing her debts, to paying them as well as she
+could, for Bertie grew sterner as the years passed.
+
+"I believe that Reynolds girl advises him," Esme once confided to
+Dollie Gresham. "They're always talking sense."
+
+"So frightfully trying," sympathized Dollie kindly; "kind of thing one
+learns up for maiden aunts, or uncles about to die; but in everyday
+life, unbearable."
+
+Esme's old friends dropped her a little; she lost her fresh, childish
+charm; she was always hinting at her poverty; asking carelessly to be
+driven about in other people's cars, picking up bundles of flowers and
+carrying them off, vaguely promising to send the money for them; but
+she hadn't time to go round to get her own. She wanted now to be
+entertained rather than entertain. She was feverishly anxious to win at
+bridge, and irritable to her partner if they lost.
+
+The club saw more of her. Men friends dropped Esme after a time; the
+disinterested spending of money is not the way of ordinary mankind.
+Dinners, suppers, flowers, theatres must have their credit account on
+one side of the ledger; and Esme would have none of it.
+
+Behind the aching love for her lost boy she liked her husband, and even
+if she had not liked him, would not have deceived him.
+
+Stolen interviews, bribed maids, carefully-arranged country-house
+visits, were not of her life.
+
+She sat still now, staring at the sea. Sometimes she would get into a
+bathing dress, and swim out. She was a fine swimmer, but the ripple of
+the salt water meant an hour's careful repairs. Her figure, too, had
+lost its supple beauty and she did not care to show it.
+
+Estelle Reynolds was swimming, carefully, with short, jerky strokes,
+Bertie holding one hand under her small, firm chin.
+
+Estelle's mother had married again; the girl lived on with her aunt in
+London. A dull life, only brightened by her friendship with the
+Carterets.
+
+With eyes which would not see Estelle and Bertie Carteret had put aside
+that day in Devonshire, tried to hide from each other how sweet it was
+to meet and talk, how easy to drop into the fatally intimate
+confidences when man and woman tell of their childhood, and their hopes
+and fears and foolish little adventures, as men and women only tell to
+those they care for.
+
+"She is no swimmer," said Esme, contemptuously, "that Reynolds girl."
+
+"Your husband takes care of her." Denise Blakeney's laugh was full of
+spiteful meaning. "He will teach her to swim, belle Esme."
+
+"I'll swim myself; I'll show them how." Esme's bathing dress was by her
+side. She picked up the bundle, calling to her maid; regretted the
+impulse before she had got to her tent; flung herself hurriedly then
+into the thin webbing, fastened on stockings and sandals and a
+bright-coloured cap, and ran out.
+
+"Here, Bertie, tell Estelle to look at me." Vanity breaking out as she
+poised on the board, slipped into the cool water, swam easily,
+powerfully out to sea; the rush of the water soothed her nerves; she
+was its master, beating it down, cleaving her way through it. Treading
+water, she looked through the translucent depths; how quiet it was
+there. What if she gave up struggling and slid down to peace? She
+looked down, morbidly fascinated. But before peace there would be a
+choking struggle; the labouring of smothered lungs for precious air;
+the few moments of consciousness before the blackness came.
+
+A child's voice rose shrilly from the shore.
+
+"No, mumsie, Cyril didn't. He not sorry, 'cos he didn't."
+
+Esme turned and swam back. She could not die. She would have a son of
+her own to still the longing for the sad-eyed boy she had sold.
+
+"See, Estelle--strike out! Don't be afraid. Let Bertie go."
+
+"But I am afraid, horribly. And I like one toe on the sand," said
+Estelle, placidly. "I swim all short, somehow."
+
+"It's because you are afraid." No one was looking at her; Esme's
+interest in the swimming died out suddenly; she grew bored again,
+fretful.
+
+She went in, the bathing dress clinging to her, showing how thin she
+was growing.
+
+"You had better go in too, Estelle. You've been out for an hour. No,
+you'll never swim the Channel."
+
+Half nervously Bertie sent the girl away, tried to forget the thrill of
+contact as he held up the firm little chin, as he touched her soft
+round limbs in the water.
+
+The girl was so completely fresh and virginal, with a new beauty
+growing in her face and sweet grey eyes. She was lithe, active; he
+watched her run to catch his wife, to walk in beside her.
+
+Esme was quite young, but she walked stiffly; she was growing angular.
+
+The two women pulled to the flap of the tent, flinging off their
+dripping things. Esme had thrown a silken wrapper over her shoulders;
+she stood looking into the long glass she had hung up in a corner. A
+sense of futile anger racked her as she looked; the powder was streaked
+on her face; the rouge standing out patchily; she looked plain, almost
+old. The mirror showed her slim body, with limbs growing too thin, with
+her girlish outlines spoilt and gone. Behind her, unconscious of
+scrutiny, she watched Estelle drying herself vigorously, perfect of
+outline, with rounded arms moving swiftly, slight and yet well-covered,
+a model of girlish grace.
+
+With a muttered exclamation Esme looked at tell-tale marring lines,
+began hastily to put on her expensive under-garments; cobwebby, silken
+things, trimmed with fine real lace.
+
+"Go for my powder, Scott"--Esme's maids never stayed with her for
+long--"for my powder, quickly!"
+
+"A clumsy woman." Esme lighted a cigarette, sat in the shadow,
+accentuating the age she had seen by knowing of it, lines of
+unhappiness deepening in her handsome face.
+
+Scott, objecting to a quarter of a mile in scorching heat, went
+mincingly. Came back with powder alone, without rouge or lip salve, or
+face cream--stood woodenly listening to an outburst of abuse. They were
+going on at once to a picnic luncheon; the motors were waiting. Denise
+had called out twice impatiently.
+
+"You said powder, mem."
+
+"I cannot go like this. I must get back; and they will not wait."
+
+Esme had denounced the picnic as a bore in the morning; now she knew
+what it would be like to sit alone at a cold luncheon and miss the
+drive.
+
+"Madame"--a soft voice spoke outside the flaps of the tent. Scott,
+enraged and giving notice, had left to bridle in the sunshine--"is
+there anything I can do for Madame?"
+
+It was Esme's old maid, Marie. The girl came in with a Frenchwoman's
+deftness, and pulled a make-up box from her pocket.
+
+"Pauvre, madame; after the bath too. I always carry this."
+
+Marie dabbed swiftly until the streaked complexion was made cunningly
+perfect. Marie was out of a place--had left her last mistress, a
+plebeian nobody.
+
+"With no dresses to come to me but those in violet silks or of the
+colour called tomato!" cried Marie. "Oh, Madame! And with no life, no
+gaiety, nothing but five-o'clock parties, and long luncheons, and,
+madame--oh, but raging when she lost at the bridge. Mon Dieu! So I left
+Madame. It is true one night I did put on the false plait--oh, but not
+carefully, for a dinner, but after a great scolding my fingers did
+tremble. Madame's great guest was an Eveque, what you call down Church,
+and strict. James the footman told me, and it was dreadful; it was to
+his lap the loose plait fell. I left. Madame is ravishing, and I would
+I were again in the service of my dear Madame."
+
+It was easily arranged. Esme forgot that Marie might know a little and
+guess more. She sent the irate Scott away immediately, and directed
+Marie to the house they were lodging in.
+
+A glance at the glass had made Marie seem indispensable; a brilliantly
+handsome face was reflected there now, pink-cheeked, white-skinned,
+smooth.
+
+"Esme! What have you been doing? We are hopelessly late, and we are
+driving you."
+
+"All my powder was washed off"--Esme was frank, up to a certain
+point--"I'm sorry, Denise."
+
+"And Cyril will bring the children; they are gone in the small car."
+Denise was irritated, impatient.
+
+Sir Cyril drove; a big, pearl-grey Mercedes hummed away, nosing through
+traffic, sensitive as a child, eager as a hunter.
+
+The picnic was on the cliffs, miles away. They lunched in a dazzling
+sun, since it is ever in the mind of man that he enjoys himself more
+away from his own cool dining-room, seated on hard ground in the heat.
+
+The Blakeneys' cook knew that which was indigestible and therefore
+indispensable. Lobster mayonnaise, cold salmon, devilled shrimps,
+galantines, pastry, whipped cream.
+
+The appetite of picnickers is a great thing, and one which towards
+tea-time wonders what possessed it. But girls laughed merrily, planning
+strolls by the shimmering sea; they had brought shrimp nets. Girls with
+pretty, unspoiled feet would take off shoes and stockings and paddle
+into pools, treacherous places where one slipped and wanted help to
+steady one.
+
+Other girls would sit quiet in shady nooks. Youth loves its picnics
+where it may wander in couples; and mamma loves them, knowing how
+sunshine and fresh air and the folly of shrimp-hunting all lead to the
+hour when the young man feels he cannot do without the merry, pretty,
+foolish thing who cries "A crab!" and clings to him.
+
+Denise had asked young people; she had no London friends down here. She
+watched them pair off as she sat down in the shade--listened to shrill
+laughs and merry voices.
+
+Esme, yawning, bored again, strolled away alone; there was no one she
+wanted to talk to. The sea had slipped far out; opal-tinted pools
+gleamed on the sands and shingle; brown seaweed clung to the rocks.
+
+The children, busy with pails, were gathering shells and stones,
+looking with delight at the gay colours of the pebbles as they picked
+them up, wet and glistening, to fade into dull-hued things of red and
+brown and grey.
+
+Esme waited with them; helped Cyril to find yellow shells and brilliant
+bits of polished brick and pebble.
+
+He looked pale, wistful. It was in her mind to shriek out her secret
+aloud--to pick the child up and cry out that he was hers and she would
+keep him.
+
+How she had dreaded his coming; how gladly she had arranged the plot
+with Denise. And now she knew that her heart was no harder than other
+women's; that nature was stronger than her love of indolence and
+pleasure. If she had been honest and patient Bertie would be heir now
+to several thousands a year, and this child, her son, to a title. He
+was hers and she had cheated him, given him to a loveless life, sent
+him into unhappiness. Who would have dreamt of Denise having a child,
+of the bitter jealousy of this false son.
+
+"And we dare not," whispered Esme to the pebbles, "we dare not tell."
+
+Cyril was settling his pebbles in rings and loops, making quaint
+patterns of them, on a strip of dry sand.
+
+"Funny thing." Bertie Carteret strolled across to his wife. "I was
+always at that when I was a kiddie. Let me help, Cyril. I used to love
+making patterns."
+
+"Did you?" said Cyril, solemnly. "I does."
+
+Esme saw the faces together. There was a likeness, faint, but yet
+plainly visible. The same level eyebrows, finely-cut nose, and eyes
+with their power to suffer.
+
+"Playing?" Sir Cyril joined them, the children's faces lighting up, for
+they loved the big man. "We'll all play. Let's dig a castle.
+Cyrrie"--his arm closed round the elder boy--"mummie says you were
+naughty to-day--pushed Cecil."
+
+"Mummie made a miftook," said Cyril equably.
+
+"Mummies never make miftooks," Sir Cyril answered gravely. "Never.
+Cyril must be a better boy and not bully the baby. I don't want to
+punish you, Cyril."
+
+"It doesn't last long, dad--if she'd like you to." The boy's eyes, with
+an old look in them, met Sir Cyril's. "I don't mind, dad--it's soon
+over."
+
+Esme's fingers closed on a handful of pebbles, so closely that when she
+let the wet stones fall her hands were marked and bruised.
+
+The boy was telling them calmly that he was used to punishment. Her boy!
+
+Sir Cyril grunted to himself. His wife adored delicate Cecil; had never
+cared for the elder boy. It puzzled the big man, vexed him, so that he
+made a pet of Cyril, loving him as the child whose coming had made such
+a change in his own life; the strong, big boy who was a credit to the
+name.
+
+Foolish young people hunted for shrimps until they were weary; then,
+looking at the advancing sea, they whispered how dreadful it would be
+to drown, and listened, flushing, as proud young manhood assured them
+that to swim to shore with such a burden would be a joy. The crawling
+baby waves, inch deep in their advancing ripples, heard and laughed. To
+prove devotion young manhood would have welcomed white-crested rollers,
+swift currents running fiercely between them and the land.
+
+Bertie had wandered far out, Estelle Reynolds with him.
+
+They talked of books and plays, but always ending with the same
+subject, the lives of two human beings called Albert and Estelle.
+
+"If one only could live down at Cliff End," he said. "I wanted to go
+there now, but Esme would come here. Oh, how tired I am of asphalte and
+'buses, and the comforts of clubs. I hunted five days last winter,
+Estelle."
+
+"But you shot a lot," she said.
+
+"At huge house-parties, with a two-hours' luncheon to be eaten in the
+middle of the day, and bridge to be played when one is dead sleepy
+after dinner. I have an old-fashioned liking for scrambling over rough
+ground with a setter and a spaniel, and bringing home a few snipe and a
+pheasant or a couple of duck. They give me more joy than my pile of
+half-tame pheasants, reared for slaughter, or my partridge or grouse.
+My friends wouldn't come to my shoots, Estelle. And--Esme's
+friends"--he shrugged his shoulders--"they are too smart for me. She's
+straight herself as Euclid's line, but--one hears and sees--Dollie
+Gresham, for instance."
+
+"Well?" said Estelle.
+
+"She is a very clever bridge player," he said drily. "Oh, I say
+nothing, but I've watched the people she picks out to play with.
+Aspiring idiots who think high stakes give them a reputation as fine
+players. There's Gore Helmsley, too--the black-eyed Adonis. I meet him
+everywhere, and my desire to kick him flourishes unappeased. There are
+queer stories afloat about the man. There was Sybil Knox; she won't
+speak to him now, almost cut him at the Holbrooks last Christmas. He's
+running after Lady Gracie de Lyle now, a little, dolly-faced baby who
+goggles into his black eyes and thinks him magnificent."
+
+"Oh, Bertie! Goggles!" said Estelle.
+
+"Well, she does. She's got china-blue eyes, just like saucers; and
+she's barely eighteen. I spoke to her mother, and she said it would
+make the girl less school-girly to be taken up for a month or two by a
+smart man--that is a word," grunted Bertie, "which I'd like to bury.
+'Smart'--it's a cloak for folly, extravagance, display and
+gambling--for worse. Never be smart, Estelle."
+
+Estelle looked at her brown hands and remarked drily that she did not
+think she ever would be.
+
+"They know no rest, these people," he said. "They wake to remember all
+they absolutely must do, and how many meals they must eat with their
+friends. Madame breakfasts in bed. Monsieur picks at devilled kidneys
+in the dining-room. He has his glass of port at twelve at the club. She
+has hers before she goes shopping. Then luncheon, bridge, drives,
+parties, tea; more bridge-parties, cocktails, dinner. Theatre, and
+bridge, a ball; supper; bridge again; devilled bones and chloral; they
+are too tired to sleep naturally. And since all this must pall, they
+must have some zest of novelty, and so go through the oldest round on
+earth--that of stolen meetings and hidden letters, and the finding out
+if a new lover has really anything new to say to them. If they lived in
+the country and looked after their houses and their gardens, and just
+had a yearly outing to amuse them, they wouldn't all go wrong from
+sheer nerves. The Town is swallowing home life, Estelle; the smell of
+the asphalte gets into their nostrils, the glitter and noise of
+restaurants become necessity. We cannot be bothered with a cook, so the
+restaurant for the flat can send us in what it chooses, called by any
+name it pleases. We get our breakfasts in now in the new flat. And
+anything else we want. Esme only keeps two maids. Everything is
+exceedingly cold by the time I get it, and if we have people to dine it
+means crowds of things from Harrod's, but it all saves trouble. And to
+save trouble is the spirit of the age. To eat glucosey jams, and drink
+cider which never heard of apples, and so forth. I believe, in the
+future, that every square and street will have its monster kitchens
+with lifts running to each house. No one will cook."
+
+"And one day," said Estelle, laughing, "will come the swing of the
+pendulum, and we shall go back to an England which bakes and preserves
+and brews, and finds out how healthy it makes its children."
+
+"No." Bertie shook his head. "We are going too fast for that. So fast
+that one day, with its motors and aeroplanes, old England will find it
+has fallen over a cliff, and lies buried in the sand of Time,
+forgotten. The brakes will not always act, and exceeding the speed
+limit generally ends in disaster. We are a mighty nation, but always,
+always the sea-road for our supplies. We should starve here in a month
+if that was stopped. Some day it will be--by some strategy. Tea is
+ready--let us forget lobster and eat again."
+
+Hot-faced footmen had built a big fire on the shore. The couples came
+flocking back to eat and drink again. Some shyly radiant, their
+afternoon a golden memory; others laughing too loudly for happiness;
+others visibly bored.
+
+"The most absolute dullard," Rose whispered to her cousin, Hilda
+Hamilton. "He only made two remarks the whole afternoon, and one was
+'that shrimpin' was shockin'ly wet.' And the other that 'he did hope it
+wouldn't wain to spoil the bathin'.'"
+
+"Oh, Rose, he didn't lisp," laughed Hilda.
+
+"Well, he ought to, he's such an idiot. Yes, I'll take muffins, thank
+you. How clever toasting them."
+
+"There was a fire," said the dull youth, sapiently; "it made it easier."
+
+"Oh, it would." Miss Rose giggled over her muffin.
+
+The opal tints grew wider on the sea as it creamed in over the sands;
+the murmur of the baby waves grew louder.
+
+Marie was airing her triumphant return at the door of Esme's pretty
+house. She had tripped into the bedroom, altered and arranged, peered
+into the cupboards.
+
+"Ciel! but Madame has now an outfit," said Marie; "it is good that I
+return. Evidently Madame has an income."
+
+Scott, the ousted one, waited stolidly for her wages, and grumbled in
+the kitchen, hinting spitefully that she might not receive them at once.
+
+Marie settled and sang, and settled, poring over the heaped letters on
+Esme's tables, raising her thin eyebrows at the gathering of bills.
+
+"I wonder"--Marie laid down an urgent letter from a Bond Street
+firm--"where Madame went when she sent me away. I have always
+wondered," said Marie, tripping down the path of the little garden.
+
+A young man strolling by stopped in amazement, listened to Marie's
+voluble explanations. A freckled youth, who kept a little hairdresser's
+shop, and hoped in time to keep fair Marie over it as part
+proprietress. Marie possessed schemes for moving westwards and becoming
+affluent. The youth's name was Henry Poore, his hobby photography.
+
+"Tiens! they come, and you must go," said Marie, seeing the big motor
+humming to the door of the Blakeneys' house. "Ah! it is well that I
+came here, for there are many clothes and a fine wage, and voila! there
+is Monsieur le Capitaine. See, he stands with a thin mees."
+
+Henry Poore looked down the road. "Seems I've seen him before," he
+said. "Sure I have."
+
+"Laikely. Ze world is full of meetings," observed Marie. "He was
+soldier; he has now retire. Oh, Henri, I am happy. Nevair did I have so
+good a time as with this Madame. You shall come to do her hair for ze
+Court. You shall be great hairdresser. Allez vite, quick!"
+
+Marie made an appointment, and Henry walked off. But the invisible
+lines of fate were closing round Esme. She had taken up one herself
+when she re-employed Marie, who knew just a little too much.
+
+Scott, dourly respectful, waited for her due.
+
+"Four months, mem, if you please."
+
+"Give it to her, Bertie. I am tired."
+
+"But--I gave you the wages cheque each month, Esme," Bertie said
+sharply. "Why did you not pay the woman?"
+
+"I suppose I spent it on something else. Don't fuss over a few pounds.
+Give it to her and let her go. Tell her not to come to me for
+recommendations."
+
+Esme strolled off to give herself over to the deft brown hands, to be
+powdered, tinted into new beauty, to have her golden hair re-done.
+
+"It is not the money. It is only a few pounds, but it is always the
+same thing," muttered Bertie to himself as he wrote the cheque,
+"always."
+
+"Sure to be right, sir?" Scott permitted herself a little veiled
+insolence.
+
+"Right? What do you mean, Scott?"
+
+"Mrs Carteret's were not always, sir," snapped Scott, primly. "Several
+shops have had to apply again. Thank you, sir. Good-night."
+
+The block of a fat cheque-book was looked at unhappily. The balance
+left was so small, and there was no more money due until Christmas.
+Bertie Carteret sighed drearily. Another lot of shares must go;
+long-suffering luck be trusted to replace them.
+
+Esme, in one of her gay moods, came down, dressed in filmy white, black
+velvet wound in her burnished hair, a glittering necklace at her
+throat. She chattered incessantly, hung about Bertie with one of her
+outbursts of affection.
+
+Marie had given Madame ah, but a tiny thing for the nairves, a thing
+she had learnt of at Madame la Comtesse's and treasured the
+prescription. Marie had prescribed further, suggested massage, a sure
+cure for nervous ills.
+
+Esme made plans in her head; leapt from reckless despair to reckless
+hope. She spent in imagination the big allowance Bertie's uncle would
+give them; she saw herself "my lady." She felt clinging fingers in
+hers, saw baby faces in her house. She would brush away the effect of
+her own wicked folly; she would be happy and rich and contented.
+
+So, with her thoughts leaping ahead, she frightened Bertie by talking
+of her plans; they comprised country houses, a yacht, hunters, jewels,
+new frocks.
+
+"I'll have that sable coat altered. The Furrier Company will do it for
+a hundred pounds. I'm sick of it. We'll go to Tatts, Bertie, and buy
+you a couple of hunters."
+
+"Out of what?" he asked gravely.
+
+"Out of--futurity," Esme laughed. "Estelle, don't look sensible; it
+worries me. Look here, children, I'm not well. I'm going over to Paris
+to see Legrand. That dull doctor's wife I met to-day says he can cure
+death itself. And then, when I am well--"
+
+With flushed cheeks and shining eyes she perched on the arm of Bertie's
+chair, her fingers caressing his hair. "And then," she said, bending
+and whispering to him.
+
+He flushed, but took her hot white fingers in his.
+
+"Oh, it's for that," he said, in a low voice--"for that, Esme."
+
+"For that. Then I'll settle down--give up Society," she said, jumping
+up and running to the window. "Come, we'll go out and join the
+trippers. I wonder Denise has not sent for me to play bridge. No, we
+won't go out; ring up the Adderleys, Bertie. They'll always play....
+It's too dull just walking out in the dark."
+
+It was always too dull to do anything which left room for thought.
+
+Esme played until morning, then, with the effect of the nerve tonic
+worn off, went irritably upstairs, knowing that nothing but chloral
+would give her rest that night.
+
+"Tell Monsieur I am not well, that I must sleep alone. That will do,
+Marie. You can go."
+
+Marie held the cobwebby nightdress ready to put on, but Esme sent the
+maid away.
+
+Marie laid down the scented silken thing and went thoughtfully.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+"I fear it is unlikely, Madame. I am very sorry." Dr Legrand put his
+capable finger-tips together, looked sympathetically at the tall,
+golden-haired Englishwoman who had come to consult him.
+
+"The child died, then, Madame--that another is so important?" he asked
+kindly.
+
+Esme flushed scarlet. "It--yes--I lost it," she said bitterly, her eyes
+filling with tears. "I lost him. And I am not likely to have another?"
+
+"Frankly, no, Madame. But you are young. Madame is nervous, says she
+cannot sleep without something. Give the something up, Madame; there is
+a little death, a little madness, bottled in each innocent dose. Go to
+the country, live in the open air. Get Madame's nerves well, then
+perhaps your wish may be realized."
+
+Esme sat silent, growing sullen, raging at fate. Why should this be?
+Why had she been treated so cruelly?
+
+If--oh, if! The word which makes our sorrow into madness--that word
+"if." If she had known, had guessed, what the future would bring.
+
+As she sat there fuming it did not come to her that the great scales of
+the world weigh and adjust; that for sinning we are punished, either by
+the bitterness of our own remorse, or by something withheld. Right
+holds its steady poundage, while wrong flies upwards, light of weight
+and false.
+
+A mother had sold her child, carelessly, heartlessly, that she might
+enjoy her life. What did it matter? Children were easy things to find
+if one wanted them. And now she sat baffled, miserable, the price no
+use to her, spent before it came, yet did not blame herself, but cruel
+chance.
+
+"Well"--Esme got up slowly, putting the great man's fee on the
+table--"bon jour, Monsieur."
+
+"Adieu, Madame." He took the dry hand kindly. "It was no doubt the loss
+of the boy which has made Madame nervous, not well. It has preyed on
+your mind, Madame."
+
+"It has," she rasped out bitterly, "and always will. Well, adieu,
+Monsieur."
+
+Dr Legrand wrote an entry in his book: "Mrs Eva Smith of West
+Kensington, London."
+
+"And yet," he said to himself, "she looked more angry than sorrowful."
+
+Pulling down her thick veils, Esme followed the man-servant across the
+hall. She had dressed very plainly, hidden her face by thick black
+gauze and net.
+
+A little dark man was coming on to the steps, whistling cheerily.
+Seeing him Esme started and jumped into her waiting taxi.
+
+The little man passed her, went into the doctor's, as one who had an
+appointment. For a moment he, too, had hurried, but the taxi had sped
+past him.
+
+"A cher Nonno," he cried, gripping the Frenchman's hand.
+
+"A la bonne heure, Luigi."
+
+"So Milady Blakeney comes to consult you," Luigi said. "She passed me."
+
+"Milady Blakeney? No! A Meeses Smith, of Londres, a handsome creature,
+but artificial, racked by late hours and chloral."
+
+"It was so like Milady," Luigi said. The doctor's consulting hour was
+over; the two were at leisure. "I attended her. A fine boy."
+
+"Yes." The Frenchman appeared to be very interested in his
+finger-nails. "Yes--there were no complications, were there?"
+
+"H'm!" Luigi Frascatelle sighed. "She came through well. But--I did not
+tell her--there is never likely to be another bambino." He dropped into
+medical explanation, gave a few details.
+
+"Never," said Luigi. "But why tell her?"
+
+Legrand took up his book. "Mrs Eva Smith, of London," he said
+thoughtfully. "H'm! She was dark, this milady?"
+
+"Dark? No, but fair as the angels," exclaimed Luigi. "Golden-haired,
+splendid. Each year the Sposo, Sir Blakeney, sends me a gift from the
+boy. It is good of them to remember."
+
+"Oh!" The French doctor closed his book. "Then it can't be," he said to
+himself, "since the boy is alive. But"--he looked again at the
+entry--"from what you tell me a second child would be a practical
+impossibility," he said.
+
+"Well, it is so," answered the Italian.
+
+"And, in this case, also. Yet the boy is alive. Come, Luigi, out. I
+shall be in London next week at the great Conference, but I leave
+happily my patients to you, mon ami."
+
+Esme, once again Mrs Carteret, lay sobbing on the high narrow bed in
+her room at the Meurice. She would never be rich now; her heartache
+never stilled. Wild schemes went drifting through her brain. Could she
+do as Denise had done? No, for Denise was rich, and to cheat one must
+have money. Half-maddened, she buried her hot face in the pillow; then
+would spring up with clenched hands, railing against the world.
+
+Her boy, her boy! who would have meant so much to her. Her baby,
+ill-used, neglected!
+
+There is no sorrow so bitter as that of a sin which has failed to
+succeed; no remorse so biting as that which eats with decayed teeth,
+which whispers as it grows painfully, "I come from your own fault."
+
+Esme got up at last, powdered thickly and carelessly, put away her
+plain gown and got into a blue velvet, pinned on a huge hat, and went
+down to tea.
+
+She could think no longer. A bunch of pale mauve violets tempted her.
+With her fair hair, her done-up skin, her brilliant gown, men turned
+and stared and drew their own conclusions.
+
+Esme wanted new gowns. Denise owed her money. She drove to her
+dressmaker's.
+
+But Madame Lilie was cool, unenthusiastic. Madame Carteret's accounts
+were over-difficult to get in.
+
+"If Madame would pay cash, but certainly. But otherwise money was
+scarce. English accounts so ver' difficult to get in. For cash there
+were one or two gowns."
+
+With deft hands Madame showed a model of emerald velvet, bizarre,
+remarkable, but exquisite in its supple grace. Another of sapphire
+cloth. An evening gown of chiffon and satin, clinging, opal-hued.
+
+The three could be supplied--they would fit Esme easily--for one
+hundred and twenty pounds for cash, with jupons to match thrown in.
+
+Esme was going to the Holbrooks. She must wear her old clothes; and
+Dollie Gresham would be there, and Denise.
+
+"You know that I would pay you," Esme flashed out. "It is nonsense. I
+could send you half in a month."
+
+Madame grew cold again. After all, the blue was almost sold to a
+customer, but as Madame had come all the way from Londres, bien! she
+had showed it.
+
+It was in Esme's mind to lose her temper, to call the woman insolent
+and suspicious. But the three models lying together, green and blue and
+shimmering opal, held her tongue.
+
+She would come back to-morrow, buy the gowns; she had meant to leave
+next morning, but she would not.
+
+It was dusk outside, and cold; she hurried on to the Ritz.
+
+A stout man, barring her path, swept his hat off to her, murmuring some
+words.
+
+"Monsieur!" Esme said haughtily.
+
+"But, Madame"--the man's French halted. "If Madame would come to tea
+with a humble admirer--"
+
+"Monsieur!" she stormed, hurrying on across the open space in front of
+the huge hotel. The man followed her, apparently unabashed, into the
+lounge, his eyes fixed admiringly on her.
+
+With a little gasp of relief Esme saw a man she knew, Sir Thomas
+Adaire--a round-faced, jovial youth, with cunning blue beady eyes, and
+a distorted imagination.
+
+"Don't make a fuss," she said, "but that dreadful person is following
+me."
+
+The stranger sheered off rapidly, with a smile of understanding more
+insulting than his pursuit.
+
+Sir Thomas, ordering tea, first called the unknown an impossible
+bounder, and then let his blue beads rest on Esme with some surprise in
+them.
+
+"Don't exactly wonder either," he said. "Dress very fine, ain't it?
+Hubby over with you?"
+
+"No," Esme answered, irritably.
+
+"Oh!" A comprehensive pause. "Let me know when to sheer off then. I'm
+doing nothing. Just over to look round. Lots of things to look at, eh?
+over here. Same sort look like peaches in the apple-house over in
+London."
+
+Sir Thomas drank his tea. Esme knew that in his shrewdly lewd little
+mind he quite believed that she had come to Paris to meet
+someone--looked on it as merely natural. Sir Thomas knew one code of
+life, and love had never come to make him wish he had not believed in
+it thoroughly.
+
+He talked on lightly; with him no wife was faithful, no man a keeper of
+his marriage vow. He told of little scandals pleasantly; they were
+nothing in his eyes.
+
+"She was very nearly caught that time. Dicky Margrave rolled up quite
+unexpectedly and milady had the forbidden fruit in her boudoir. She
+told him to turn his back and take off his coat, and clean the windows.
+'Horrible mess in here, Dicky,' she said. 'Man's just finishing the
+windows. Come to the library.' The forbidden one walked out boldly two
+minutes later."
+
+"But the servants?" said Esme.
+
+"Oh, if they tell, they go; also, they won't get other places; they
+keep quiet all right. Betty Margrave told me that herself. She's got
+Dicky in order now; he's afraid of reprisals about Caromeo."
+
+So from story to story, a male Vivien carelessly blackening reputation.
+
+Esme told him so, growing impatient.
+
+"Bless you! who's got 'em nowadays? We only treasure visiting lists,"
+he mocked.
+
+After a time Esme talked herself, found herself enjoying the
+ever-pleasant task of pulling our friends to pieces, added a new
+whisper or two for Sir Thomas to elaborate.
+
+"Just left the new Penelope, haven't you?" he said. "Denise
+Blakeney--she's into the starch bag after several years in hot water.
+No one but Cyrrie now, and he--well, he was always a gorgon husband.
+Saw a parson gazing at Denise last month at her big garden-party.
+'There is a model of English wifehood, of truth and purity,' he said to
+something in brown muslin, whom I fancy was his wife."
+
+"And if he knew," flashed Esme, indignantly, and stopped.
+
+"Knew what?" Sir Thomas grew interested.
+
+"A little secret." Esme's face grew grave. "Pah! if we all knew each
+other's secrets. If you knew mine and I yours."
+
+"Haven't got any," he said comfortably. "Secrets are the kind of things
+you've to keep a flat for and a motor which they drive some other
+fellow out in. A day's amusement is my sort. But--you--you're a bit of
+a Penelope yourself, Mrs Carteret."
+
+"Anything else is so stupid," said Esme, laughing.
+
+Sir Thomas, falling into complete bewilderment, asked Esme to dinner
+when he found she was really alone. To forget her misery she was
+hilariously gay, telling smart little stories, flashing out sharp
+speeches, amusing the little man immensely.
+
+"Kind of woman you don't know what to make of," grumbled Sir Thomas.
+"Lets you kiss her ear in the taxi, and gives yours a verbal boxing
+when you suggest supper in a quiet room. Gets herself up to look like
+what she's not, and is frightfully offended when she's taken for it.
+Tires one's eyes, that class of cipher. We'll read plain print again
+demain, thank the Lord."
+
+Folly would never be Esme's refuge; she sat in her room, her sleeping
+draught ready, wondering what life would be like if, for mere
+amusement, she had been what Sir Thomas took her for. There was not
+even a pretension of affection, but merely: "We are well met. You are
+pretty, your skin is soft, your eyes are bright; let us see how much
+joy we can steal from Time's storehouse."
+
+"There must be crowds of people who are like that or he wouldn't think
+it so natural," said Esme. "I believe Dollie wouldn't care--or Denise,
+once--but I--I could never forget my miseries by becoming a beast."
+
+Then, soothed by the drug, she slept soundly, to wake with a parched
+mouth and heavy head, and lie tossing feverishly because her tea was
+late.
+
+There were the three dresses. Fretting for them--more because she
+wanted to fret than because she really wanted them--Esme went to the
+telephone.
+
+"Is that Madame? No? Well, give her a message. Tell her I'll send over
+a cheque for those dresses from London. To alter and keep them for
+me--Mrs Carteret."
+
+It was a weary journey back. When thoughts would come crowding in
+bitter array. If there was never to be a child, then they would never
+be rich. Only a week before Bertie had told her plainly that they could
+not go on spending so much. Here again Esme blamed someone else. If
+Denise would only pay her regularly, it was all Denise's fault. There
+was two hundred owing now, since June. The thousand pounds vanished so
+easily. Dresses, bridge, furs, so many things that Esme wanted, could
+not do without. If Bertie knew that besides what he knew to be spent
+she was using this other money, too.
+
+If Denise would only pay up her debts for her, let her start fair
+again! Esme looked sullenly at the calm sea. If not she would threaten
+to take the boy--she would take him. He would forget it all in time.
+Then, with a shiver, she thought of the telling, of the scandals, of
+tongues wagging, of the proving and altering, and, she was not
+pitiless, of Denise Blakeney's complete undoing.
+
+Denise was still in Scotland. Rashly, pressed by her desire for the
+dresses, Esme made up her mind to write.
+
+Bertie met his wife at Charing Cross. With her irritable mood making
+her observant, Esme noticed that his light overcoat was shabby, that he
+lacked smartness.
+
+"Oh! Bertie!" She kissed him, eagerly glad to see him, always hoping to
+find comfort in his love. Then the barrier which her secret made rose,
+drearily, between them. They had so little to talk about now, so little
+in common.
+
+"That coat's shabby, Bert. You must get a new one," she said
+impatiently.
+
+"Not just now," he answered; "it's all right."
+
+"It's not right." Esme felt that he was hitting at her extravagances.
+"You shall get one. I'll buy it for you, Bert."
+
+"Millionaire," he mocked. "Have you got some secret fount of money, Es?
+You never have enough to buy your own things, child. And--the doctor,
+Es--Legrand?"
+
+"Says I'm to drink milk and eat turnips and pray," she said bitterly,
+"and live in the country, and sleep on ozone, and so forth."
+
+"And--if you would?" His voice grew eager. "Oh! Esme, if you
+would--just you and I together again."
+
+The tenderness in his voice was forced there, stilling thoughts which
+would not sleep; he assured himself that with a fresh start, without
+perpetual extravagance and excitement, he would feel the old passion
+for his wife wake in him. Fresh air and exercise would banish the
+memory of the companion whose presence he longed for so much now.
+
+"Come to Cliff End, Butterfly. Try it as a cure, with me as chief
+physician."
+
+London, huge and splendid, flitted by them as the taxi rushed to the
+flats; the streets called to Esme; the restaurants were lighted up,
+glowing golden behind their portals. She thought of the whimper of the
+wind, the thunder of the surf against the rocks; the dreariness of the
+country.
+
+"I couldn't," she said at last; "the man doesn't understand. Town's my
+life, Bertie; all my pals are here. No, I couldn't."
+
+"It will have to be Town with a difference very soon," he said, sighing.
+
+Economy again--money; he thought of nothing else. She was not back five
+minutes and he was preaching at her. He could look up what he'd paid
+for her clothes last year. It wasn't so much. "And I'm better dressed
+than rich women," stormed Esme, hysterically. "You might be proud of me
+instead of grumbling--always grumbling."
+
+The taxi stopped at the door of the tall buildings. There was no home
+in it to Bertie. The hall porter greeted them. The lift took them
+upwards to their flat, past other flats, and then into the pretty rooms.
+
+Marie was ready waiting, supplying the petit soins which Bertie had
+forgotten.
+
+"Pauvre Madame is tired." Marie had a cup of coffee with but just a
+soupcon of eau de vie. The bath was prepared. She hovered round Esme,
+getting a soft wrapper, soothing jangled nerves. Marie was a treasure!
+
+Esme took up her letters. Bills, invitations, more bills, a scrawl from
+Dollie asking them to dinner. Esme had forgotten her ill-humour.
+
+"Bertie, we're dining out--telephone to Dollie. Yes, I said we'd go."
+
+Dollie Gresham's was better than dinner in the restaurant, or brought
+up by a flat-faced German to their dining-room. Bertie distrusted the
+tinned soup, the besauced entrees and tasteless meat. He was glad to go
+out. Esme had told him nothing; he was hurt and would not show it.
+
+"Ring up the coupe people, Marie. Dollie may be going to a theatre,
+Bert."
+
+"We must owe them a fortune," was on Bertie's lips, but he stopped. To
+even ask if a taxi would do might disturb peace.
+
+Dollie wanted them for bridge. Her little dinners surpassed Esme's now.
+They were a party of eight, Dollie's bitterly clever tongue keeping
+away all fears of dullness.
+
+"Cousin May was here to-night, Esme; she came from Paris to-day also.
+She saw you there--at the Ritz, having a dinner with blue-eyed Tommy.
+You heard some pretty tales before that evening was over, Esme. Let's
+have them now."
+
+"Am I to undermine the peace of this dinner-table?" Esme's wit was
+fairly ready, and she watched with a smile as women flushed and men
+looked uncomfortable.
+
+"Unsavoury little dustman," said Bertie, sharply.
+
+Esme had not told him of her dinner. His look at her made the table
+know it, and gave them something to talk of afterwards.
+
+"Sly Esme, setting up as such a model too. And Tommy of all men. She
+was a friend of Jimmie Helmsley's once, too; _don't_ you remember he
+dropped her for the Chauntsey girl?" people whispered. The teeth of
+Society loves a bone of scandal to crunch.
+
+After dinner Bertie cut in at Dollie's table, and as her partner found
+himself absent, playing badly, losing tricks carelessly.
+
+"I'm really sorry," he apologized, as their opponents went across for
+sandwiches. "I'll wake up now."
+
+"You're out of sorts," Dollie said kindly. "What is it?"
+
+"Debts," he said wearily. "We're the old proverbial china crock, Mrs
+Gresham, trying to swim with the brass one. What does it cost a woman
+to dress, Mrs Gresham?"
+
+"It costs Esme about fifteen hundred a year," said Dollie, shrewdly.
+"Claire is ruinous now. Never an evening frock under sixty, and the
+etceteras at so much an ounce. Then Esme's furs are all new. She's a
+bad little lady going to Claire, and Lilie in Paris."
+
+"Fifteen hundred!" Bertie laughed. "No, about three; and it's far more
+than I can manage."
+
+"Three--grandmothers!" observed Dollie, blandly. "You see Claire's
+little bill and tell me then. You're very extravagant children. Esme
+paid those electric people fifty pounds before you left London, and
+taxis are just as good."
+
+"Fifty pounds!" Bertie shuffled the cards silently. He had not given
+Esme fifty pounds for the garage. He certainly did not pay Claire's
+bill. His payments had been to big drapers, and to a tailor.
+
+A sudden sickening doubt was assailing him. Was Esme getting money he
+did not know of? Was he one among the hundreds of fooled husbands? He
+flung the thought away, and turned to the game, and played carefully.
+
+But on the way home the thought returned.
+
+"Esme, we must pay these people," he said, trying to speak carelessly.
+"Not let it get too high."
+
+"Oh, I sent them a sop to Cerberus months ago--a big one."
+
+"But--I never gave it to you."
+
+"No." He saw her hand move impatiently. "No, it was bridge winnings, I
+suppose. Or when Poeticus won the Hunt Cup. I forget."
+
+Suspicion is a seed which, sown, grows, and will not be hoed up. Bertie
+came into his wife's room as she lay asleep, and looked sadly at her
+pale face. There was a small room next door, lined with cupboards; he
+went to it, opened the doors, saw the shimmer of satins and silks, the
+softness of chiffon and lace, the gleam of rich embroidery--dress upon
+dress. He had loved to see her well dressed, and not dreamt of the
+great cost of some of these mere wisps of evening gowns. Sixty pounds!
+Bertie shut the doors, feeling mean, as if he had spied, but he was not
+satisfied.
+
+Had Esme some way of getting money? Instead of sleeping, he did
+accounts; got up frowning, to go to sleep at last in the grey bleakness
+of an autumn morning, to wake with the little parasite, suspicion,
+gnawing at his heart.
+
+He went into his wife's room after his breakfast; she did not come down
+for hers now. Esme was up, her golden hair loose, waiting to have some
+brightening stuff rubbed into it.
+
+She was bending over her jewel-case, choosing a necklace and pendant to
+wear.
+
+"This clasp is loose, Marie; the clasp of these sapphires"--Esme held
+up a thin chain holding together little clusters of sapphires and
+diamond sparks. "It's--oh! you, Bertie!"
+
+"That's new, isn't it, Esme?" He took the chain from her.
+
+"New--if a year old is new."
+
+"And this"--he snapped open two or three cases, holding glittering
+toys. "I didn't give you any of these, did I?"
+
+Esme moved impatiently. "Paste," she said suddenly. "Parisian! I can't
+go about always wearing the same old things, so I am foolish, and get
+these."
+
+"Oh, paste!" He was putting back a pendant when he looked at the
+setting. Surely paste had a backing, was not set clear.
+
+"They're wonderfully done," he said gravely. The satin lining of the
+case bore a Bond Street jeweller's name.
+
+"Oh, wonderfully." Esme snapped the case to. "And I get the cases so as
+to deceive my friends' maids. Run away, Bertie, you worry me standing
+there."
+
+He went slowly. Esme was lying to him. The things were real. Her
+jewel-box was full of new toys and trifles; he began to realize that
+her dresses were magnificent.
+
+Her letters lay in a litter on her bureau, some half-opened, all tossed
+about as if they had worried her. One long slip oozed from its
+envelope, with a huge total at its foot. It was a bill for new furs.
+Another thick envelope bore the word "Claire" on the back.
+
+A man has a right to see his wife's bills. Bertie took out the letter.
+
+Madame Claire begged immediately for a cheque on account. She really
+must have a few--Bertie turned white--a few hundreds. A smaller slip of
+paper was enclosed. Amount of account furnished, three hundred and ten
+pounds. Yellow evening gown, lace overdress, seventy pounds. Blue tea
+gown, forty pounds. The total was for five hundred pounds.
+
+Bertie laid it down with a sick feeling of despair. He could not pay
+this. It was impossible. Five hundred pounds to a dressmaker. Dollie
+Gresham had been right in her estimate. He sat looking at the dull blue
+of the drawing-room carpet, sat thinking hopelessly.
+
+Then Esme, in dull blue-green, masses of black making a foil to her
+fair skin, came back. A faint perfume clung about her, nothing
+emphasized, but the memory of sachets or little pieces of perfumed skin
+sewn into her dress.
+
+The necklace of small sapphires and diamonds glistened at her throat.
+She was humming gaily, ready to write to Denise.
+
+"Esme!" Bertie raised his white face.
+
+"Bertie! Have the Germans taken London, or is Lloyd George made Regent?
+Or--you're not ill, Bertie?"
+
+"We can't go on, Esme," he said. "I saw your account on your bureau
+there. Esme, I can't pay it, unless we sell everything--go away."
+
+He saw her hand clench, but she did not look at him.
+
+"How dared you pry?" she began, then checked herself. "Paul Pry!" she
+mocked. "Paul Pry! But I can pay it."
+
+"You? How?" he asked, getting up.
+
+"How? I've won a lot lately," she said, after a pause. "I got some
+tips. I can pay it, Bertie."
+
+"You've got money to your account, then?" he said, for he knew that she
+was lying again.
+
+"Not now."
+
+"Bookmakers," said Bertie, "pay on Mondays. Who is your man?"
+
+"Oh! _don't_ bother, Bertie." Her hands shook as she began to write.
+"Denise did the bet for me. I'm writing to ask her to send it on now."
+
+"Oh!" he said, more quietly still.
+
+"I backed first one and then another," she said; "got it that way. So
+don't fret, Boy."
+
+"But if you had not won," he said softly. "The account is not new,
+Esme."
+
+"I chanced it! I let the winnings go on to other gees." He could hear
+the anger rising in her voice. "I chanced it. Don't bother now, I'm
+writing."
+
+"But I must bother, Esme. We can't go on like this. We're getting
+poorer every day. If we had a child things would be different, but as
+it is Hugh Carteret will leave me Cliff End and what he allows me
+now--four hundred a year."
+
+"And you'll be Lord De Vinci," she said.
+
+"With a title and two mortgaged places, and every penny left to the
+girl. Esme, if you can't pull in we must give up London."
+
+"Not until London gives me up," she flashed out. "Leave me my own
+affairs, Bertie. If I make a bit it doesn't hurt you. You don't have to
+pay then."
+
+"You're mad, Butterfly," he answered, "to dream of living by backing
+horses. Look here! Nothing's ever been the same since I went away that
+time. Esme, we're young. Let's start again." He came nearer her.
+
+If he had taken her in his arms she might have fought down the restless
+demon of anger and resentment which was tearing at her. But he did not
+touch her.
+
+"Start in a sand castle by the sea," she mocked, "with limpets for
+friends and neighbours." And then suddenly her self-control gave way.
+She burst out hysterically and told him he wanted to make her
+miserable, to imprison her in the country; cried tears of sheer peevish
+temper; swore that all the world's luck was against her; that she had
+no pleasure, no real fun; that even a few rags paid for by herself were
+grudged to her.
+
+After a little Bertie turned away, went out so quietly that she did not
+hear him go, and left Esme raving in an empty room, until Marie with a
+tabloid came to soothe and comfort.
+
+Bertie walked swiftly across London, up through the roar of Piccadilly,
+with its motor monsters, diving, stopping, rushing, with its endless
+flight of taxis, its horse vans out of place in the turmoil. It was
+cold, a thin rain falling; he walked on to narrower streets, and came
+to the grey, dull square where Estelle lived with her aunt. It was
+London at its dreariest; smoke-stained old houses, blinking out at a
+smoke-grimed, railed-in square. A few messengers delivering meat at
+area doors, a few tradesmen's carts standing about, now and then a taxi
+gliding through, spurning the thin slime of the quiet street. Decorous,
+old-fashioned carriages were drawn up at some of the doors, with large
+horses poking miserably at their bearing reins, and getting their
+mouths chucked as they did it by obese and self-satisfied coachmen. The
+self-centred life of a colony of quiet people was making its monotonous
+way from free lighting to lights out. People who lived next door and
+never knew each other, who revolved in their own little circles and
+called it living. Perhaps lived as happily as others, since to each
+their own life and drawing of breath.
+
+"Was Miss Reynolds in? Yes?"
+
+Estelle was dusting the china in the big, brown-hued drawing-room, an
+appalling museum of early Victorian atrocities, with efforts of the
+newer arts which followed the cumbrous solidity; pieces of black and
+gold, plush monkeys clinging to worked curtains, fret-work brackets and
+tables covered with velvet sandwiched in here and there.
+
+Estelle dusted an offensive bronze clock with positive loathing. It was
+a gouty effigy of Time, clinging to his scythe because he must have
+fallen without it, and mournfully accepting the hour-glass set in his
+chest, which held a loudly-ticking clock of flighty opinions and
+habits; evidently, judging by his soured expression, a cross to the
+holder. Two large vases containing dyed pampas grass guarded each end
+of the mantelpiece; two others held everlastings.
+
+Estelle had once said that the room inspired her with a deep longing to
+throw stones there, so as to break some of the monotony.
+
+Mrs Martin, her aunt, padded softly in each morning, moving pieces of
+furniture back to their exact places if they had been stirred by
+visitors, patting the muslin antimacassars, pausing every time at the
+doorway to remark, "Is it not a charming room?" and then padding out
+again--she wore velvet slippers--to sit in the room at the back and
+stitch for the poor. Mrs Martin had reduced dullness, skilfully touched
+up with worthiness, to a fine art.
+
+She gave Estelle complete liberty, because, behind her conventional
+stupidity, she herself had a mind which imagined no harm, a child's
+mind, crystal clear of evil thoughts. She had married, been widowed,
+lived blamelessly. The swirl of London was part of the newspaper world,
+"which everyone knows, my dear, the compositors make up as they go on,"
+she told Estelle, "except of course the divorce cases, and no doubt
+half of those are not true."
+
+The most blameless daily which could be procured was taken together
+with the Athenaeum and the Sunday Chronicle.
+
+"Oh, I shall throw them some day," said Estelle aloud to the vases.
+
+"Who is that, Magennis?" said Mrs Martin to the butler. "Captain
+Carteret! I trust he has come to arrange an outing for Miss Reynolds."
+
+"He does that often, 'e does," said Magennis, as he went back to his
+pantry. Magennis had not a mind of crystal purity. When he was younger
+he had been pantry-boy in a large country house.
+
+"Bertie! What is it?" Estelle dropped one of the smaller vases. It
+crashed on to the silver brightness of the polished fender, making a
+litter of bright-flowered glass and crackling everlastings.
+
+"It's broken," said Estelle.
+
+"And so am I." Bertie crossed the room and took her hands. "And you
+cannot ever mend the vase, Estelle, but I wonder if you can mend me."
+
+Estelle turned very white.
+
+"I'm tired," he said drearily. "I feel as if the fates had drubbed me
+mentally, until my sore mind aches. We'll get another vase,
+Estelle"--for she was picking up the pieces with shaking fingers. "And
+I tell you, I have come to you to be mended," he went on, almost
+pitifully.
+
+"But I--what can I do?" she whispered.
+
+The room faded; she saw the open sea shimmering blue and green and
+opal; she felt again the love she had hoped she had fought down and put
+away.
+
+"You can stop pretending," he said. "You can give me a little comfort,
+Estelle, a little love. I have lost faith in everything except you.
+And--I love you, Estelle," he added gravely.
+
+The rush of mingled joy and sorrow made the girl gasp.
+
+"But Esme?" she whispered.
+
+"Esme was a will-o'-the-wisp--a false light on a marsh. You are the
+solid world. Estelle, I don't know where I am. Esme has made a fool of
+me--and I can never care for her again. Will you help me--or see me go
+to the dogs alone?"
+
+The cunning of man, turning the mother-love in woman, which he knows is
+stronger than passion, to his own ends. Man triumphant, merry, full of
+strength and hope, she may resist; but man broken, pitiful, needing
+her, is irresistible.
+
+Bertie had sat down on the brown sofa; he was looking at her with dazed
+eyes.
+
+"I'll help you, Bertie. I'll be all I can ... as your friend ...
+remember, only as your friend."
+
+"Child, do you take me for a brute?" he said, as he drew her down
+beside him.
+
+Poor Friendship, lending his cloak once more, standing mournfully as
+Love flings it over his pink shoulders; knowing so well how the god
+liked to hide and mock beneath the solid folds.
+
+"Oh! I am so tired, Estelle," said Bertie.
+
+Friends only--the cloak held firmly. But friends' lips do not meet with
+a thrill of joy; friends do not know the unrestful happiness which came
+to these two as they sat hand-in-hand--their two years' sham fight over.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+"OH, bother!" said Denise Blakeney. "Bother!"
+
+"What is it, Den?"
+
+Sir Cyril sat on his wife's bed; he was up early, out about the place,
+arranging the day, looking at his horses, his herd of shorthorns,
+speaking to the keepers. His men feared Sir Cyril, and served him well.
+
+Denise pushed a letter away.
+
+She was pretty and fresh in her lace cap, her rose-pink wrapper.
+
+"Oh, nothing!" she answered. "It's time to get up, isn't it?"
+
+"To-morrow," he said, "it will be time an hour earlier."
+
+"Shooting mornings are so long," yawned Denise.
+
+"But what, or who, worried you, Den? Why did you exclaim?"
+
+An insistent man, he held out his hand for the letter.
+
+"Oh! nothing, Cyrrie. No, you mustn't see it. It's only from Esme,
+grumbling. I couldn't show it to you. There are things about
+herself--her health." Denise talked very fast, growing a little
+breathless. "And she wants a little loan--and I'm short. She was so
+good to me that time abroad, you know--she--"
+
+"She's rankly extravagant," said Cyril, equably. The silken quilt had
+slipped on one side; he saw the figures L200 written plainly. Sir Cyril
+sat thinking, frowning as he thought. He gave Denise a huge allowance
+to do as she chose with; but twice in the last year she had asked him
+for more.
+
+"She's rankly extravagant," he went on, "and she must not worry you, my
+dear. I'll send her five-and-twenty."
+
+"No, Cyril, not you--it would be a breach of confidence."
+
+"There can be no breaches of confidence between a wife and her
+husband." His eyes hardened, his big jaw stuck out. "No secrets, Den. I
+tell you that, and I mean it. If she has asked you before I should have
+known. I expect to know again."
+
+Stooping, he kissed her lightly, but she knew the meaning in his voice,
+knew and dreaded him. The folly of her petty sinning had been crossed
+out, but since then she was his, and he would stand no deceiving.
+
+"You fool! to write to me," almost whimpered Denise.
+
+Esme had written excitedly. She had raved on at Bertie, stormed, cried,
+grown calm, and then angry. Money must be found now--must! Two hundred
+was not enough. Denise must send three, advance the money for January;
+she must give at least two hundred to the rapacious Claire. So her
+letter was a flurried one, lacking caution. "I must, Denise," she
+wrote--"I _must_ have money. I could have it of my own if I--if
+I--upset everything. You know what I mean. So don't refuse me, old
+girl, for old sake's sake. Send me something to sell if you can't
+manage coin. I'm really in a corner. Bertie's grumbling, Claire
+pressing. You know what Hugh has said--that if I had a child he'd leave
+us money, and so--" then a long blank.
+
+"She is mad," whispered Denise, now white to the lips, shaking from
+sick fear. "If she told, if it came out. I'd deny it all! She dare not;
+but--if she did!" She sat up, shivering, and Sir Cyril, looking in, saw
+her.
+
+"That Carteret girl is worrying Den," he said to himself.
+
+"And I haven't got it," muttered Denise. "I don't think so, and I
+daren't send off jewels, for that tiresome Studley counts them all, and
+nothing wants mending."
+
+She must slip into the town, get money and send it off. Cyrrie had been
+looking over her accounts lately; she had had to draw out money in
+small sums, and send them on.
+
+Denise was frightened. She was going down when she saw the tell-tale
+letter lying on her bed. She ran back, tore it up, burnt it in her
+fire; came to breakfast shaken and looking ill.
+
+Cyril was making his own tea; Denise took coffee; the boys, in their
+high chairs, were solemnly eating bread and milk, eating fast that they
+might reach the stage of scrambled eggs, and later, honey or jam.
+
+"Oh, Cyril, how you mess!" Cyril had dropped his spoon. "You shan't
+have any jam now, or egg--only bread and butter."
+
+"You're hard on him, Den. Any fellow can drop a spoon."
+
+"He can also learn to hold it. Now don't cry, Cyril."
+
+"I never does," said Cyril, quietly. "Never, mumsie."
+
+"No--you sulk." Denise was venting her irritation on the boy.
+
+Big Cyril was thinking. He thought quietly, and, equally quietly,
+acted. Denise must not be weak enough to go on paying for one winter's
+kindness.
+
+"Say sorry and mumsie will give us jam," said Sir Cyril.
+
+"Didn't drop it a pupus, dads." The clear baby eyes met Sir Cyril's,
+filled with the mystical reasoning of childhood. "Not a pupus--the dog
+joggled me, dad."
+
+Sir Cyril grinned gently; Denise muttered something, and he helped the
+boys to egg.
+
+Cyril, forgetting the wisdom of silence, wished to know why hens
+wouldn't lay eggs scrambled, an' save cook's trouble, and Cecil
+suggested telling the fowl-woman.
+
+"I am going to Insminton, Cyril. I have to get some things."
+
+"Yes. I'll come in with you. No one will be here before one."
+
+Denise flushed; then she must go in the afternoon, and the bank would
+be shut.
+
+She sat fidgeting, afraid to the bottom of her shallow soul of the
+big-jawed man she had married.
+
+She had seen him angry--knew the depths of his cold anger, and his
+ideas of justice. The hard Blakeney pictured faces frowned down upon
+her from the dining-room walls; a race of human steamrollers, driven by
+the power of determination; diving aside respectfully for what they
+realized to be the rightful traffic of the road of life, but coming on
+mercilessly to grind what needed grinding.
+
+"Coming, Den?" Sir Cyril called from the door.
+
+Denise came reluctantly; she must pretend to have some errands, for she
+knew she would get no opportunity now of going to the bank. Her husband
+would do his own work quickly, then drive her about, waiting for her.
+
+The big drapers scored by an order for silk and for table linen.
+
+Mr Holmes, the grocer, rubbing his fat chin, decided that sardines must
+be about to be used as fish by the great, seeing that he had supplied a
+dozen boxes the day before and was asked for another dozen now.
+
+"Finished, Den?"
+
+"Yes. I think I've forgotten something, though." Denise was driven
+home, answering questions, but not speaking, frightened, and too
+visibly ill at ease.
+
+"H'm!" said Sir Cyril to himself.
+
+He went to his study to write, stayed there until the luncheon gong
+rang, came out to find the first arrivals in the morning-room, and to
+see Denise, her colour high, hurrying in.
+
+"I'm so sorry I'm late. I had to run over to the Vicarage to give the
+vicaress some books for her club. I forgot them this morning."
+
+Denise had been to the bank, extracted two hundred pounds in notes from
+a beaming manager. She came in a little nervously, looking aside at Sir
+Cyril. The big man would have made a good detective. His hard eyes
+narrowed a little, his big chin shot out. Denise was not in the least
+likely to have remembered the books for the vicar's wife without some
+other motive. Without the faintest suspicion of Denise in his mind, he
+summed it all up.
+
+"That Carteret woman's worried the girl; she went to get her the
+money." After all, the Carteret woman had been once full of devotion;
+Denise had heaps of money; but it must not go too far. Cyril Blakeney
+was a man who walked straight to his goal. He meant to ask Denise how
+much she had sent, to warn her against being bled.
+
+He ate his plainly-cooked luncheon, almost in silence. A thorough
+Englishman, eating large helpings of roast beef and vegetables, topped
+up by a steamed pudding and cheese. A mouthful of something highly
+flavoured had no attractions for Cyril Blakeney.
+
+Denise, picking at a cutlet, watched him, grew brighter as she began to
+feel certain that she had managed everything so well. She would have
+her own money soon, send on the advance to Esme.
+
+Denise pulled out the one foot she had dabbled into the Slough of
+Despond. She walked gaily again in the sunshine on firm ground.
+
+And yet the cue was on the call-boy's lips; the drama was being played
+out, and a net she never dreamed of closing about her.
+
+By tea-time the party had nearly assembled; they took it in the big
+drawing-room, chilled people coming gladly near the blazing fire,
+drinking hot tea, eating tea-cakes and hot biscuits as if dinner were
+twenty-four hours away.
+
+Lucy Richmond, a big blonde, married to one of the best shots, came to
+sit by Denise. She was a dull, stupid woman, deeply impressed by
+herself. Hostesses were profoundly bored by Mrs Richmond, but she
+delighted in house-parties and was comfortably certain that Gus, her
+lean little husband, was only asked for her sake.
+
+"So nice to be here again, dear Lady Blakeney. I do love your big
+house. And now tell me all about the babies, and how they are."
+
+Denise nibbled a sandwich, and looked for rescue. She was lamentably
+ignorant as to flannel undervests and patent foods.
+
+"The little one is in knickers now, I expect, isn't he? I hope he
+wears...."
+
+Denise's appealing eyes raked Sir Thomas from his chair; they called
+openly for help.
+
+"That he wears really fine wool," said Mrs Richmond, heavily. "No, Sir
+Thomas, run away; you're not interested in children's clothes."
+
+"In knickerbockers," giggled Denise, faintly.
+
+"Not going to come out with the guns in 'em really, are you?" said Sir
+Thomas, blandly, ignoring everything except the last words. "Sportin'
+of you, Mrs Rich--very. Has Raleigh taught you shootin' then?"
+
+Mrs Richmond sniffed angrily.
+
+"Get me some tea," said Denise, "and oh, here's Cyril."
+
+The big man strolled across to his wife, handing her a telegram from a
+delayed guest.
+
+"Nuisance," he said; "good shot, too."
+
+"Oh! Lady Blakeney, I must show you my new pendant." Lucy Richmond
+forgot knickerbockers, and turned to a fresh subject. "One of those
+dear, old-fashioned, heavy things. Raleigh sent me to buy myself a
+birthday present, and it had just come in to Benhusan's."
+
+Unfastening a clasp, she held the jewel out. Seeing it, Denise felt her
+colour ebb until she feared her cheeks must be deathly white. It was
+the pendant she had given to Esme. Why had the woman chosen this moment?
+
+"It's just like yours, Den"--Sir Cyril took the jewel in his big
+fingers--"exactly the same."
+
+"I love these dear old-fashioned solid things," babbled Lucy Richmond.
+"As it was heavy, it wasn't so dear. Benhusan told me he had just
+bought it, but that they had made it originally themselves."
+
+"Oh!" Sir Cyril sat down. "Yes. Bought it when, did you say?"
+
+A bore is a person stocked with date and detail. Lucy Richmond loved a
+listener. How interesting she was, she felt, as she re-clasped the ugly
+pendant. Oh, on such a day--at such an hour.
+
+Close by Denise sat listening, afraid to speak, hoping she was not
+showing her fear, her heart fluttering.
+
+"Yes. Curiously, my wife has a duplicate of this, one an old aunt gave
+to her. Wear yours to-night, Denise."
+
+"I hate it, Cyrrie," she faltered.
+
+"Yet wear it," he said very quietly, and strolled away. Sir Cyril never
+seemed to hurry.
+
+Denise, for the best reasons, could not wear the pendant. Wild thoughts
+shot through her head. Should she go to Mrs Richmond, borrow the
+diamonds, make up a story? No, for the gossiping fool would repeat it
+all over London.
+
+It was late when Denise came to her room; she sent her maid away, sat
+by the fire. It was so comfortable there; she was surrounded by rich
+things; her dressing-table gleamed with gold and ivory; her bed was
+carved white wood, a nest of silken eider-down.
+
+And if Cyril knew.
+
+He came in then, quietly, walked to the fire and stood looking down at
+her.
+
+Some silences are harder to bear than words. Denise shivered nervously.
+
+"You did not wear the pendant to-night, Denise."
+
+"No," she said miserably.
+
+"Because you could not. Denise, why lie to me?"
+
+"I--I," she crouched down in her big chair, sick, frightened, wondering
+what lie might serve her best.
+
+"I know Benhusan," he said. "I rang him up at his own house. Den--Esme
+Carteret took that pendant, and--you lied to screen her."
+
+The woman cowering in the chair turned as red as she had been pale,
+felt as some sinking swimmer who suddenly feels ground beneath his feet.
+
+"I saw her standing at your safe, opening and shutting cases. She
+thought you might never miss this thing, as she knew you hated it.
+Denise, I don't blame you; but one cannot know a thief. It was that,
+was it not?"
+
+Stronger people have taken their rescue at the cost of a friend's
+reputation. Denise was not strong; she was shallow-natured and afraid
+and shaken.
+
+"Oh, Cyril," she said, beginning to cry. "Oh! don't tell a soul. Oh,
+promise--promise! She wanted money so badly."
+
+"Money to spend upon herself, upon frocks and furs and entertainment.
+Den, she must not come to the house again. And this exonerates you from
+sending her gifts of money."
+
+Sick fear jumped to life again. If there was any difficulty with Esme's
+allowance the whole story might come out; she might still be ruined,
+disgraced.
+
+But reflection brought comfort; there would be heaps of ways of
+managing the money.
+
+Denise put her arms round Cyril's neck and pleaded for silence for her
+friend; let the stigma of thief fall on another woman, and wondered why
+she had found so easy a way out.
+
+"I don't blame you, Den--don't cry." He held his wife closely. "But
+don't lie to me, girl! Don't! even to save other people. I must have
+truth. Must--and--will. The past's past; the future's mine, Denise,
+remember that."
+
+He held her away a little, so that he could see her face. "You took
+some money out to send this wretched woman to-day. Don't send it now.
+How much was it?"
+
+"It was not all for her, Cyril; she wanted--fifty," stammered Denise.
+"I got a lot--I was thinking of buying those ponies and the little trap
+for the boys as a surprise. You know, Edwardes' pair."
+
+It was a good lie this time; he had no suspicion.
+
+"Well, put your money back," he said kindly. "I'll get that. I'll put
+it in for you to-morrow ... send it for you."
+
+Denise Blakeney did not sleep that night; and next day, driving into
+the town, she lost a valuable ring; it was loose, must have slipped off
+in her glove.
+
+Esme, opening the parcel, read a letter which surprised her.
+
+"You were mad to write, Esme, mad! All kinds of things have happened,
+and I cannot tell you. Take these stones out to sell them. I've said I
+lost the ring. And don't go to Benhusan's."
+
+Sir Cyril, before he promised silence to his wife, had talked too
+openly to Amos Benhusan; said more than he had perhaps intended to.
+
+Mr Benhusan had not promised silence; he talked a little, discreetly,
+but he talked.
+
+Esme bought her Paris frocks; paid something to Claire. Denise had sent
+her something valuable; but when the Blakeneys came to London, and she
+called, the "Not at home" was unmistakable.
+
+"When would her ladyship be in?"
+
+"Could not say, madam."
+
+The door respectfully pushed to. Sir Cyril, meeting her, passed her
+with a cold bow.
+
+Esme rang up furiously. What was it? She must know.
+
+"Not here. I can't talk here." Denise's voice was hurried and strained.
+"Meet me at the club to-morrow--at eleven."
+
+Esme kept her appointment punctually.
+
+"Down here, Esme--down in this lounge." Denise hurried to a dim corner,
+poured out a badly-jointed tale.
+
+It was the letter. Cyril had caught sight of some of it, been furious;
+Esme must keep away. It was the only plan. "And never come near the
+boy, never," wailed Denise, "never. After all, you never wanted him.
+You mustn't come to the Square. Cyril would suspect."
+
+A passion of anger rent Esme. Not to see the little son she had sold.
+Not to spend the half-hours which sent her away yearning and wistful.
+Not to bring sweets to the unloved child; to try to be his friend.
+
+"Then, if you're not good to him," she stormed out, "by Heaven, Denise!
+I'll have him back. And for money, I must have my payment, but the boy
+comes first. Be good to him."
+
+A sneer from Lady Blakeney. It was a little late to prate of
+mother-love, to assume virtue. Esme had hated the idea of the baby
+coming. It was rubbish to suppose that anyone so hard-hearted could
+want to bother now. "I wouldn't have sold my child," sneered Denise.
+"No real woman would. Let cant alone, Es."
+
+A pretty quarrel between two well-bred women who, with primitive
+instinct itching their fingernails, flashed out sharp truth and sharper
+innuendo.
+
+A couple of women passing in saw the two.
+
+"Hullo! I think that Esme and Denise are disagreeing." Lady Mary Ploddy
+peered down the corridor. "They're flaming at each other. Look, Sukey."
+
+Lady Sukey, her sister, looked; she even listened. "Quite interestin',"
+she drawled languidly. "Quite!"
+
+When Esme, flushed and furious, had gone out of the club, she flung
+back a last threat which left Denise raw with fear and anger, so
+irritated that her words were not quite under her control. She forgot
+caution, only wanted to hurt.
+
+"Denise, you've been fighting with your Esme," said Mary Ploddy.
+
+"I was telling her I could not go on being friends and she resented
+it," said Denise, unsteadily.
+
+"Couldn't? Why?" It was ill-fortune for Esme that Denise should meet
+two women who loved a scandal dearly.
+
+"Oh, never mind why. Cyril has forbidden me to. It's something I could
+not tell; nothing to do with morals."
+
+"Money then?" Lady Mary's eyes were glowing with curiosity. "Only money
+and morals nowadays in the sin catalogue."
+
+"Oh, never mind--she's impossible," snapped Denise, and, flustered,
+shaken, went out.
+
+"It's something bad. Scratch the Carteret woman's name off the list of
+your Bridge Tournament, Sukey. I'll drop a hint to the Rollestones,
+too, for their dinner and dance."
+
+So a whisper grew. Esme, going to a big reception that night, caught
+one or two frigid bows from women who had smiled the day before.
+
+The rooms were crowded, full of notabilities. The reception was in
+honour of a French diplomatist and his wife; the tripping tongue was as
+much used in the rooms as English.
+
+"There is one lady whom I wish to see." Dr Legrand looked at the
+brilliant crowd. "Milady Blakeney."
+
+"So, Monsieur. She is close to us--passing downstairs. There--in
+grey-blue--with the diamond stars."
+
+"But, non, that is a dark lady." The doctor stared, puzzled.
+
+"My nephew attended milady in Italy; but she is fair."
+
+"No, Monsieur; she was always dark. He's muddled her with Esme
+Carteret, who was with her. She is brilliantly fair. She
+might--yes--there she is, just going out."
+
+Legrand turned, caught a fleeting glimpse of Esme, started.
+
+"Meeses Carteret," he half whispered. "But surely, it is so like the
+Mrs Smith of London. I seem to know this Mrs Carteret," he said aloud.
+
+"She is a pretty woman. Oh!"
+
+For Legrand had slipped away, struggled to the far doorway to get to
+Esme, caught a glimpse of a fair head on the stairs, but got no nearer.
+
+But that night he drew the strands of fate closer, for he wrote to
+Luigi:
+
+"I have seen your Lady Blakeney, and she is brown-haired, ordinarily
+pretty, no fair-haired goddess. If you will join me here for a day--get
+Cartier to act for me. Thy Nonno."
+
+Luigi arranged to come to London in ten days' time.
+
+As fog spreads, cold and bitter, so a whisper crossed London.
+
+Esme, restlessly pleased by new dresses, by money to gamble with, went
+to the Holbrooks. Came, without thought of the scandal which was biting
+at her name, down to dinner.
+
+The new dinner-gown clung to her long, thin limbs; she was haggardly,
+dazzlingly handsome.
+
+Lady Mary Ploddy was at the fire.
+
+"How cold it is!" Esme had played bridge for years with the Ploddy
+women.
+
+Lady Mary went on talking to Vita St Just as if she had heard nothing.
+
+"How goes bridge, Lady Mary?" Esme said, carelessly. "Been winning
+lately? We can play in the mornings here."
+
+Mary Ploddy's powdered profile was slowly turned.
+
+"Oh, you, Mrs Carteret," she said icily. "I am rather off bridge. Vita,
+shall we sit down?"
+
+The whisper to yet another friend:
+
+"Oh, something. Her old friend, Denise Blakeney, has had to cut her.
+Sir Cyril insisted. I heard that it was something about a pendant. Amos
+Benhusan told one or two people--you know, the big jeweller."
+
+The chill deepened. Esme was left alone at the fire, realizing suddenly
+that the women had drifted away from her. She looked at them curiously,
+turned to talk to a couple of men who came in, and forgot it. Something
+had put out the old Ploddy women, she decided carelessly.
+
+But that evening, next day, Esme began to realize people were avoiding
+her. She saw glances as she came into a room; she noticed the sudden
+hush which told her she was being discussed.
+
+What was it? What could it be? The Holbrooks' party gave her no
+pleasure. For a time she tried to think it was jealousy, envy of her
+gowns, but Esme was not small-minded; the thought had to be put away.
+
+She sat up for Bertie one night, called him in from the small room off
+hers, where he slept.
+
+"Bertie! these women are avoiding me," she flung out. "What is it? I've
+done nothing. They keep away from me--are almost rude; there's
+something, Bertie."
+
+"Lord!" He sat down, staring at his wife. She looked haggard, worn;
+older than her years. He began to think. People had been curiously
+_kind_ to him since he had come. He had been almost feted by the men;
+they had "dear old chapped" him, asked him to play bridge and
+billiards, praised his shooting, offered to lend him horses, with a
+whispering undernote of pity in it all.
+
+"Lord! It--must be nonsense, Butterfly," he said kindly, with something
+telling him that it was not. They had got wind, he thought, of Esme's
+extravagance, and then he shook his head. What were debts to women who
+thought it smart to evade them, who paid exorbitant bills because they
+had been running too long to check them, who all wanted a little more
+than they had got?
+
+"It must be nonsense," he said gruffly. "Scandal wouldn't offend them,
+even if you'd ever gone in for it. Want of money is nothing. Perhaps
+you've won a bit too much off 'em at bridge, or attracted someone's
+private man-property."
+
+"I haven't," she said irritably. "Well, good-night."
+
+Luke Holbrook, big and good-natured, paddled across his palm-court next
+day to the stiff room where he knew he would find his wife writing
+letters.
+
+"Seem to have made another mess of it, my love," he said mildly. "Went
+to Sukey Ploddy now about what you told me, and she swears it's true.
+Telephoned to Benhusan. He wouldn't commit himself. Very awkward, my
+love, having the woman here."
+
+"Too awful," said Mrs Holbrook. "To have stolen a friend's diamonds!
+That's it, isn't it? Gracious!" said Mrs Holbrook, weakly. "And Daisy
+Ardeane coming to-day."
+
+"Bad as the dancer, my love." Luke Holbrook stroked his fat chin.
+"Bad as the dancer. See the _Morning Post_, my love?"
+
+He picked it up.
+
+"'A marriage has been arranged and will take place immediately between
+the Marquis of Boredom and Miss Maisie Moover, of Magnificent fame.'"
+
+"The Duchess, my love, is having hysterics at the Hyde Park Hotel.
+Ploddy informs me that his cousin Trentwell is attending. She cut me
+dead last week in the Park, my love; and all because we wished to amuse
+a Cabinet minister."
+
+"That affair," said his wife, "may alter the Boredoms' missing chins.
+But this is important. I can't have Esme Carteret here."
+
+Mr Holbrook remarked that actions for libel were unpleasant, and that
+Carteret was an excellent fellow; then he sighed.
+
+"The woman has been living at a ridiculous pace," snorted Mrs Holbrook.
+"French frocks, furs, out everywhere and in debt."
+
+"I'm afraid I'm horribly sorry for her; she looks wretched." The big
+man got up. "Debt's the devil, Maria."
+
+"The reminders generally go to a hot place," said his wife, absently.
+"Think it over, Luke. Help me."
+
+"I must, my love," said Luke, meekly.
+
+And then chance cut the difficulty in two. Esme, picking up the
+_Morning Post_, saw another paragraph.
+
+"Sir Cyril Blakeney's son and heir was to-day run over by a taxi-cab.
+Lady Blakeney was with her two children, returning to her house, when
+the eldest boy stepped off the footpath and was caught by the wheel of
+a passing cab. Faint hopes are entertained of his recovery."
+
+The paper slipped from Esme's hands; she grew numb and cold.
+
+"She pushed him," she whispered to herself. "She was angry and pushed
+him."
+
+Her boy! Her baby! She knew now what she had sold and lost. Panting out
+his tiny life, dying!
+
+Esme got up slowly, came numb and white to her hostess.
+
+She had had bad news; she lied dully, carelessly; a cousin was ill; she
+must leave at once. But if they liked to keep Bertie she was sure he
+would stay.
+
+"I must be near him; I must be near him," rang the tortured longing of
+her heart. If he died she must see him buried; stand by his grave.
+
+Something in the stricken face touched Mrs Holbrook. A motor could come
+round at once; catch the eleven-o'clock train; she was sorry.
+
+"Thank you. My maid can follow. Thank you and good-bye."
+
+"She went herself, my love," said Luke, contentedly.
+
+Oh! crawling slowness of the big car; of the flying express train;
+biting fear of what might be as she reached London.
+
+Their flat was cold, dusty; Esme did not notice it; she unhooked the
+telephone.
+
+"Who is that--Mrs Stanson?" A pause. "_How_ is the child?"
+
+Swaying, Esme listened.
+
+"Better--almost out of danger. It was exaggerated; his arm is crushed,
+but there are no internal injuries we hope. Who am I to say asked?"
+
+The nurse had not recognized the hoarse voice.
+
+"The ... Duchess of Boredom. Thank you ... thank you!"
+
+A great wave of relief swept over Esme. Her boy would not die. Then,
+later, fresh waves of depression. He was not out of danger. Children
+went out in a minute. The hours dragged and she was afraid to ask
+again. Then, still sitting there, hunched in a cold room, she rang up.
+
+Denise's voice answered. "Who? Oh, it's you, Esme. I'll shut the door.
+Now don't get hysterical, don't! The boy's doing well. He was naughty;
+it was his fault."
+
+"You pushed him," stormed Esme.
+
+"Who told you?" Denise stopped, her voice grew ill-humoured. "No, you
+must not come here. I'll let you know. Oh, I promise I will. Don't be
+absurd."
+
+Esme sat on, taking no count of passing hours.
+
+"But, oh, my poor Madame," wailed Marie, as she came in, "perished and
+alone."
+
+Marie, of course, had made up her mind to an intrigue. Madame had not
+gone for nothing. Marie was disappointed. But she lighted the fire,
+sympathized, sent for hot tea and toast, flitted about with a world of
+surmise hidden behind her black eyes.
+
+What was it? What trouble was Madame in? Knowledge was useful to clever
+people.
+
+The telephone bell whirred; before Esme could come Marie had snatched
+up the receiver.
+
+"Is that you, Esme? Quick! I've no time. The boy is doing well. What?
+Not Mrs Carteret? Oh, call her--at once."
+
+No necessity to call the woman who came flying in, her eyes wild with
+anxiety. Esme listened for a moment, then came back to her tea slowly.
+
+It was Milady Blakeney's voice; Marie knew it.
+
+"There is something then amiss with the little Master Blakeney,
+Madame?" the maid said softly.
+
+"He is hurt, ill. His mother hates him," Esme burst out, then checked
+herself.
+
+"It is sad that Madame who loves so much a bebe should not have a
+little son," said Marie. "I thought ... when I left Madame...."
+
+Esme felt the flood of scarlet rushing to her tell-tale cheeks. With a
+quick movement she dropped her cup and cried out.
+
+"When I left Madame," murmured Marie to herself, "and Madame is now so
+attached to the little boy Blakeney. I wonder, oh, I wonder!" muttered
+the Frenchwoman.
+
+Little Cyril mended rapidly. His hand and arm were crushed, might never
+be used freely again; but there were no fatal injuries.
+
+Deep in her heart, after the first remorse for the angry push which she
+had given the child, Denise had hoped that he might die. Once dead
+there would be no more danger of detection. Esme would give up worrying
+her.
+
+There was a dance next night given by a newcomer to London, an Italian
+Marchese.
+
+Denise went to it, for Cyril was out of danger.
+
+Three times Esme had rung up to know if she might see the child, and
+Denise had answered: "No, no! Cyril was suspicious. Esme must not come."
+
+The Marchese had taken a big house in Eaton Place, had spared no
+expense on her entertainment.
+
+Esme, with her cheeks too pink, her eyes bright and hard, felt anew the
+frost which was creeping about her. Friends bowed coldly; she saw nods,
+shrugged shoulders.
+
+She met Jimmie Gore Helmsley near the ball-room door. He was watching
+for a new love, a pretty little woman of twenty, married to a dull man
+who merely adored her and therefore took no pains to show it. The girl
+turned from gold to tinsel, because tinsel glittered and was more
+pleasing to the eye.
+
+"Oh, Jimmie, you!" Esme was glad to see him. "Any news?"
+
+"Heaps!" he said coolly. "Sorry I can't stay to tell it you, fair lady.
+It's curious news."
+
+Jimmie was paying off a score. He was openly unfriendly. Esme stood
+partnerless, hurt by the snub for a time, until she flashed smiles on
+boys who bored her, simply that she might not be alone.
+
+She saw Denise splendidly dressed, glittering with jewels; saw, too,
+that Denise backed and tried to slip away to avoid a meeting.
+
+"How is he?" Esme darted through the crowd. Sir Cyril stood near his
+wife, his big face set coldly.
+
+"The boy? Oh! much better, thank you. So nice of you to take an
+interest in him." Denise's voice shook from nervousness.
+
+"May I not come to see him?"
+
+Sir Cyril interrupted quietly. "Impossible," he said, "impossible, Mrs
+Carteret. The boy is to be kept quiet. Come, Denise."
+
+It was an open snub, given before people who looked on full of
+malicious curiosity.
+
+Esme stood, white under her rouge; there was something, and she did not
+know what it was.
+
+"Come, let us go to supper." She turned, laughing, to her partner. "I'm
+thirsty."
+
+The lighted room, masses of flowers, gay dresses and bright jewels,
+swam before her eyes. Then at the door she saw Luigi, and saw him wave
+and smile to her.
+
+The secret was undone. This man knew. Fate had brought him to London.
+
+Mechanically she walked on.
+
+"Ah, milady!"--his brown hand gripped hers. "Well met. And--you do not
+look well."
+
+"Mr Herbert, I've dropped a brooch, just over there; try to find it for
+me." Esme sent the boy away, stood staring at the Italian.
+
+"I have not ten minutes," he said. "I have to go, but my uncle would
+have me come here to see the English monde. And so--I see the child is
+hurted, but is nearly well again. I came yesterday," he said. "I leave
+to-morrow, recalled to Italy, or I would have gone to see him and you."
+
+He knew no one there. He was alone and he was leaving London. Yet at
+any moment he might meet Denise with her husband.
+
+"I am so glad to see you," Esme faltered. "See, come to supper, and I
+will try to find Esme; she is here too."
+
+She hurried him downstairs to the supper-room; saw Denise, and leaving
+Luigi ran across to her.
+
+Denise was with Lord Ralph Karton.
+
+"Denise!" Esme bent down to her. "Get away. Luigi is here. He takes me
+for you. He is at supper with me. Get _away_, I say; but I must see the
+boy to-morrow, if I keep silence again--I must," she said.
+
+Denise Blakeney slipped to the door, stood there panting, hiding; she
+was not well, she told Lord Ralph; sent him for her husband.
+
+"Esme--I dare not," she whispered back; "but here--you are hard
+up--take this for gratitude."
+
+She slipped a great bar of diamonds from her bodice, held it out.
+
+"It cost a thousand," she said. "But you've saved me."
+
+"I'll take it if I see the boy," said Esme, sullenly.
+
+"Not until Cyril's out of London. Telephone to me. I dare not."
+
+Esme's fingers closed on the glittering toy she held. It was
+magnificent; meant ease, peace--for months.
+
+"So again I sell him," she said bitterly. "Go, Denise, quickly, while
+there is time."
+
+She was pressed against Denise by the crowd, struggled away just as Sir
+Cyril came down the stairs to his wife.
+
+Esme slipped the diamond bar inside her dress, fastening the clasp to
+some lace. She went back to the Italian doctor, sat talking to him, saw
+him leave, and at the last was almost discovered.
+
+For Luigi, bowing low over his country-woman and hostess, had told
+joyously of his meeting with Milady Blakeney.
+
+"I will tell the uncle who said she was not fair that he is blind," he
+laughed.
+
+The Marchese smiled, puzzled. "Fair to us, perhaps," she said. "She has
+gone home, poor lady."
+
+"But no," said Luigi, puzzled.
+
+Then the crowd separated the two Italians. Luigi went back to his
+hotel, and on next day to Italy.
+
+A line no broader than that of a spider's weaving had saved Denise from
+exposure.
+
+She drove home so frightened that she looked really ill; went to her
+room, clinging to Cyril's arm. The husband she had once treated so
+lightly seemed now a bulwark between her and all misfortune. To lose
+him--lose her home, her position--
+
+Denise was pale, exhausted, as she slipped into her big chair, crouched
+there shivering.
+
+Sutton, stiffly sympathetic, unloosed the clinging satin gown, brought
+a warm, rose-pink wrapper. Cyril ran for brandy.
+
+"But, milady, the bar of diamonds. It is gone."
+
+Cyril Blakeney paused at the door; he had heard.
+
+"I told you that the clasp was bad, Sutton; I was afraid."
+
+"I do not remember your ladyship having mentioned it," said Sutton,
+acidly.
+
+"Your big bar, Den? The one I gave you last Christmas?"
+
+"Yes." Denise sipped the fiery spirit. "Telephone, Cyril; send a man
+round. The fastening was bad; search the car."
+
+"I do not think that we shall find it." Sir Cyril's face was very
+stern. He remembered seeing Esme pressed close to his wife. In his
+heart he had no doubt the woman had stolen again.
+
+Esme had been Denise's friend in time of trial. He could not give her
+into the hands of the police. He said nothing to his wife, but went
+down slowly, heavily, to write a note and send it round.
+
+And as fogs rise, so the whisper grew; Sir Cyril shrugged his shoulders
+when he spoke of the loss; he openly turned away from Esme Carteret in
+the Park.
+
+"Someone, I fancy, took it from my wife when she felt faint; at a huge
+reception like that there are curious people. Lord Harrington noticed
+it as she came to supper."
+
+Sharp eyes had seen Esme press close to Lady Blakeney, whisper to her;
+someone had noticed that she slipped something inside her dress.
+
+London must draw its skirts aside from this offender and suspect.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+Spring again, dancing backwards from summer's hot grasp. Light winds
+whispering wantonly as they caressed the waking earth. Soft sunlight,
+and everywhere the scent of narcissi, the blaze of golden daffodils.
+
+The brown drawing-room had known no change during the passing months.
+It was as stiffly hideous as ever. The _Church Times_ and _Sunday
+Herald_ lay on the same table; the winter fires had been ordered away,
+and a vase of daffodils glowed yellow in the grate.
+
+"It would be good in Devonshire to-day." Bertie Carteret looked out at
+the dull, prim square, where the sooty trees were trying to grow green.
+"Lord! think of the great clean air there blowing in over the sea, and
+the flowers in the old spring garden; and here with spring there is
+dust, and there are always pieces of paper blowing round corners."
+
+Through a weary winter he had drawn the veil of friendship across love.
+Estelle's gentle face had brightened the world for him, a world which
+had grown very dark.
+
+"Poor boy," she said softly now; and there was no friendship in her
+voice. Spring called. She was a woman, weary of watching the game she
+might not join. The wanton voice of London was in her ears to-day--the
+sooty, dark square, the prim room stifled her. Your being of transient
+emotions has frittered so many thrills, so many little mockeries of
+passion, that one a little deeper matters little; but the hard-held
+nature frets at barriers, tears at its self-made bit as its longing
+eyes look at the wide fields it must not go into. To give nature the
+rein for once, to know the glory of loving. Man and woman, one giving,
+one possessing, both tasting the joys of the gods.
+
+"And it is always the same?" Estelle's strong, slim hands were pressed
+together as though she held something in them that she would not let go.
+
+"It is always the same," he said bitterly. "The world--what Esme calls
+the world--has dropped us. Somewhere--Heaven knows where--she finds the
+money to make another for herself. Is always with Cissie de Burgh--a
+woman glad to know anyone--with her friends the Henley leaders, and
+Frank Dravelling. Bridge parties, dinners, bitter tempers. I had to go
+to supper at the Savoy last night to find one table a mass of flowers
+and fruit, to see Esme sweeping past her old friends, to hear her
+laughing too loud, talking for effect, so that they should see she did
+not care. It was a pretty party, with neither Tommy nor Lord Francis
+Dravelling quite sober."
+
+As Sir Cyril Blakeney believed Esme to be a thief, so her husband
+believed firmly now that some man must pay, and that she was too clever
+to let him find out.
+
+Their roads lay apart; they were frigidly friendly, and the depth of
+Esme's hurt prevented her asking for an explanation.
+
+She did not know why her London turned its head away from her; never
+guessed that Denise had let her fall under such a vile suspicion--to
+save herself. Never guessed either why Bertie grew suddenly cold, told
+her one day that for the future she would still hold his name but no
+more.
+
+Brooding, sore, Esme's brilliant beauty faded; she lived, clawing at
+the spiked door which closes the room called right. It was bitter to
+see her book empty of engagements, to hear the cold "Not at home" of
+well-drilled butlers, to be left out of bridge at the club. For a time
+she went there, sitting alone, then it hurt too much; she went no more.
+As Cain she was tempted to cry out that her punishment was greater than
+she could bear.
+
+"Leave London. Come to Cliff End," Bertie pleaded once.
+
+"No! Someone has lied, and I must find out who. No, Bertie, I can find
+other friends."
+
+They were found. Esme spent money recklessly. Smiled now on people she
+would not have bowed to. Went to houses whose reputation had endured
+one of the many smudgings. Played high, and lost and won. Ate grilled
+bones at six o'clock in the morning, and tried to make it pleasure. Her
+tongue could trip lightly over well-known names. She was welcome in the
+new set, which called folly, smartness, and weak vice, life.
+
+What was it? A cloak may hide a sore, but the very manner of the
+concealing chafes the thing it covers.
+
+Unpitied, wrongly suspected, Esme's heart broke as she tore at the
+locked door. If one could find the backward road--if the Great Powers
+would give us back the years, seeing as we see now. Lie and scream and
+bleed, little human, the way is always onward--there are no scissors to
+cut the false stitches we have made.
+
+If she could go back to that careless springtime and do right. Take
+motherhood as woman's right and joy and pain; guess how she would love
+the child which then she had dreaded.
+
+"I was mad--mad," Esme would groan, and yet blame circumstance and
+opportunity and Denise, rather than her own selfish weakness.
+
+If Denise had not come to her she must have gone through with it, and
+gained peace and happiness.
+
+Selfishness and greed and fear had stood for her boy's sponsor, had
+marred both these women's lives. And Justice, smiling grimly, saw one
+floating on a flood-tide of prosperity, made happy and successful by
+her scheming. The other an outcast, broken in health and spirit.
+Justice sat quiet. To some the whip is administered at once; to all the
+punishment, the payment of the fine. Interest grows in the black ledger
+of our sins.
+
+Two women had schemed successfully, and other lives were drawn now into
+the mesh.
+
+"I am very tired of it all, Estelle." Bertie got up restlessly. "Very
+tired. My home is no home. My old friends look at me with a pity which
+is worse than enmity. I went to Denise Blakeney once. I asked if she
+knew what was amiss, and she turned red and white and stammered, and
+'Oh, no, of course not--unless there might be some scandal, something
+foolish.' I came away, knowing she would not tell me the truth she knew
+of."
+
+Estelle's head turned away; she knew; she had heard the black
+suspicion, but she could not tell Bertie Carteret that the world held
+his wife to be a thief. Better let him suspect the other, which was not
+true.
+
+"Well, little companion?" He stopped his restless pacing, looked down
+at the sunny brown hair, and at the girl's sweet, glowing face. "How is
+it all to end?"
+
+"When I go back to--to Cape Town," she said.
+
+The words were as knives slashing at self-control, cold steel carving
+finely at an open raw.
+
+"No," he slipped out. "By Heaven! you shall not go."
+
+"But I must." Then Estelle's voice faltered; she knew what it would be
+to part, with nothing known of love save imagining, save a few
+hand-clasps--friends must not kiss; save the sweetness of nearness
+driving home from theatres.
+
+"No," he said again. He caught her hands suddenly, held them closely.
+
+"You would take my only comfort," he muttered. "Estelle--don't go."
+
+Man does not see sometimes his supreme selfishness. That this girl
+should eat her life out to keep him from his sorrows.
+
+"I ... let us go out," she said.
+
+Outside spring rioted, danced, kissing men and maids to madness and to
+merriment. His breath passion, his light touch a thrill.
+
+"Come from this sooty sarcophagus," Bertie said.
+
+They drove to the Park, and on to Kensington Gardens, where London
+plays at being the countryside. There the big trees were really green;
+one could look through the tracery at the blue sky, and forget the
+great city roaring at right and left, at back and front. Toy lap-dogs,
+belled and netted, and larger dogs held on leash, by well-dressed men
+and women, bereft of liberty, told that this was a mere painted scene,
+and no true piece of country.
+
+But it was fresh. Spring danced there gleefully. Summer would gather
+the harvest; spring was the sower of love thoughts.
+
+Estelle strolled across the grass, sat down at length on a wooden
+bench, where a great beech above her made green fretwork against a sea
+of tender blue.
+
+They were silent. Everyday words were out of tune to spring's music;
+and they feared to say the others.
+
+"You cannot go, Estelle. You will not really." Bertie harked back to
+the fear of parting.
+
+"And if I stayed," she said, suddenly mutinous, alluring.
+
+"If you stayed," he whispered, then grew grave. "Could two people not
+make a world for themselves, Estelle, and be happy in it alone?"
+
+She held sweet fruit to her aching mind, then broke through to the hard
+kernel of the truth.
+
+"No, for we are never alone," she said gently. "That is the weariness
+of it. There are no two who strive to make this world who do not draw
+others inside the hedge of their secret orchard."
+
+His hand fell on hers softly.
+
+"Then, since there is no future, I'll have to-day," he said sharply.
+"We'll dine and do a theatre, Estelle, and sup recklessly in some quiet
+place."
+
+What theatre? Bertie had a paper in his pocket; they bent over it.
+
+"This new thing--Spring," he said.
+
+"It's advanced, isn't it?" she asked.
+
+"It's very much so, they say. Miss Prude! But I am not in the mood for
+flounced virtue set in Scotch, nor for all the solid worth which the
+fashion follows. The music's lovely. I hear the piece floats through a
+pale green wood, and over primroses and daffodils, away to a sapphire
+sea."
+
+"Let it be Spring then," she said. "This day is yours, my friend."
+
+Friend! whose hand lay hot on hers, when their eyes met half joyously,
+half despairingly. Joy that fate should have allowed them to meet;
+despair that since man and woman are created for each other they could
+not know the fullness of happiness.
+
+A cord long strained will snap at last. The cord of self-restraint
+which they had tied up the hands of nature with had come to its last
+strand, and they knew it.
+
+The spring day slipped away to the hour when the curtain rose on the
+new musical play. Well-named, for it was light and sweet as spring
+himself, full of tenderly passionate music, of waking love, of budding
+youth. Tame blood which would not run a little faster as the south and
+west winds, the sunshine and the showers, came creeping to wake the
+spring earth maidens. Girls veiled in tender green, their limbs and
+faces seen through a mist of some transparency. The wild winds blew the
+draperies aside; a mock gale blowing from the wings; sunshine turned
+the green to a glow of gold; the showers came, mistily green, with
+light behind them, but to each the maidens turned, trembled, and gave
+themselves to the wooing arms.
+
+The whole piece was full of suggestion and of fantasy.
+
+Quiet Estelle, watching, felt the longing in her blood grow stronger;
+was youth to pass and leave her unwoken by a lover? Was she never to
+know the madness of hot kisses, the restful heaven of the afterwards?
+
+"I dreamt once that I had found Spring"--Bertie's voice sounded far
+away to her--"and it was a mocking wraith. Estelle, if we might find it
+together--you and I."
+
+"If!" She moved her hands to the time of a haunting dance.
+
+The house was full. People who had been the Carterets' friends were
+here and there. Dollie Gresham, with the Blakeneys; the Holbrooks in a
+box, often looking sadly at a pair in the stalls--the Marquis and
+Marchioness of Boredom.
+
+One big box at the left, empty until the middle of the second act, was
+suddenly filled by a noisy crowd. Three women came to the front,
+throwing back rich cloaks, showing over-bare necks and arms, flashing
+with jewels; the background was filled in with the black-and-white
+uniform of dining mankind.
+
+"Esme," Bertie whispered, "with those people."
+
+Poor Esme, glaring defiance at the friends who had cut her, her cheeks
+scarlet, her lips crimson, dazzlingly handsome still, but haggard, bad
+style, laughing too gaily, talking too loudly, holding up her careless
+happiness too openly. And straight opposite, Denise, quietly dressed,
+placidly happy, avoiding Esme's challenging looks.
+
+The parts had been played and gone strangely for the players.
+
+"My wife," said Carteret, bitterly, "with a crowd of fourth-rate
+impossibilities--and looking...." He paused, expressively. "Estelle, do
+you think a man likes to see his wife look like that? I hope she may
+not see us."
+
+A vain hope. Esme's restless eyes looked everywhere. She started,
+turned laughingly to Lord Francis Dravelling.
+
+"See my immaculate spouse and his flame," she said, "there, in the
+stalls. I used to like the girl once, but I leave her to Bertie now."
+
+"Hot stuff, eh?" said the boy, his eyes devouring Esme. Then he
+whispered to her eagerly.
+
+Esme's eyes grew hard, her face set bitterly.
+
+Bertie, the man she had once loved dearly, was sitting with another
+woman, and she was listening, without anger, to a bold suggestion. And
+all, everything, had come from that one rebellion against nature and
+custom.
+
+"I am not taking you among the world to-night," Bertie said to Estelle.
+"I've ordered a quiet supper in a quiet place."
+
+It had turned cold; they drove to a hotel, went to a warm room, its
+stiffness tempered by huge bowls of flowers, supper laid on the table.
+
+The waiter discreetly presumed that they would ring if he was required;
+he left them with a faintly un-waiter-like grin.
+
+Estelle was not hungry; she pecked at aspic and foie gras, but drank
+champagne; glad as the sparkling wine banished care, did its allotted
+work.
+
+It was peaceful in there; the scent of the flowers filled the room; the
+fire burnt brightly.
+
+They left the half-eaten meal and came to the glow of the blazing coals.
+
+"Estelle!" The last strand snapped. Bertie's arms closed round the
+girl, crushed her supple body to his, kissed her with the reverence of
+great passion. "Estelle!" he said. "You are spring--turn to me."
+
+The lips that answered his, the arms that clung about his neck told him
+she loved him.
+
+Forgetting the barrier of custom and law, they snatched bliss from the
+greedy gods. Yet, even as he held her, Bertie knew this was no creature
+of light intrigues; she might come to him in a glory of sacrifice, to
+be his for all time; she would not sink to the furtiveness of secret
+meetings, to the sharing of her man with another home.
+
+He put Estelle in a big chair, knelt before her, told her all the folly
+which is never old, which the great master Passion can tune anew each
+time. And what were they to do? Part--and let the world rob them of
+their joy, or....
+
+"It must be all or nothing now," he said hoarsely. "We could meet so
+often, little sweetheart--be so happy."
+
+"Living a lie," she said bravely, though with all her nature yearning
+for him. "No, Bertie, no."
+
+He pleaded on--pleaded with lips which touched her hotly and yet
+reverently, with soft whispers of what life might mean. "Estelle--then
+come to me. Let us go away altogether. Take some house in the country,
+and live for each other. People would forget in time."
+
+"And Esme?" Estelle asked simply. "How would she live?"
+
+"I would give her money, what I could spare; then she has someone who
+supports her; there is no doubt of that, Estelle, or I would not be
+here now. I would have buried my love for you, taken her away to Cliff
+End if she had been faithful to me."
+
+"You do not know," Estelle faltered.
+
+"I know she can pay bills, do as she chooses. It comes from someone."
+
+Estelle sat silent. People said it came from stolen jewels, and she did
+not tell him. She knew him so well; she feared his burst of wrath, his
+going straight to Cyril Blakeney and demanding proof or retraction.
+
+"It is time to go," Estelle said. "Bertie, I'll tell you to-morrow.
+Come to me about four. I'll be alone. I'll tell you then."
+
+With a sudden thrill of fear and joy she knew that in her own sultry
+room she might be less strong.
+
+"For if I lose you, I shall go to the Devil without you," Bertie said
+recklessly.
+
+The heart of woman delights in self-sacrifice. Estelle knew that she
+would lose the world gladly to make her man happy. She was pure enough
+to look passion in the face and not hide hers; to joy in the thought of
+giving herself and to realize what it would mean.
+
+"I will come to-morrow," Bertie said, his hands heavy on her bare
+shoulders, his eyes more eloquent than words.
+
+The discreet waiter came padding noiselessly, took his bill and tip.
+
+"But not our sort," he muttered, as Estelle went out.
+
+Bertie Carteret walked home alone. Estelle would not let him drive with
+her. Far up the stars blinked in a violet sky, the cool spring wind
+blew against his flushed face. Having been, up to the present, a mere
+ordinary honourable man, he was miserable. Gloss it over as he might he
+knew what he was asking for.
+
+The tall mass of the mansions towered high above him; he hated the
+place, its comfortless show.
+
+"Mr and Mrs Rabbit, who live in a warren," he said, as he let himself
+in.
+
+The little sitting-room was dusty, neglected, but he sat in it smoking
+until the stars went out and grey dawn came sickly pale to oust the
+night.
+
+A motor siren bleated below. After a little he heard the swish of silk.
+Esme, haggard and flushed, came into the room.
+
+How she had changed. The childish look had gone for ever, replaced by a
+hard bitterness, by mirthless smiles.
+
+"You!" she said carelessly. "You've made a night of it, my friend."
+
+"I have been home for hours," he said coldly.
+
+"Tiens! Who knows!" She went to a table, poured out brandy and opened a
+bottle of Perrier. "Who knows, my Bertie. I saw you with Her at the
+theatre."
+
+He sprang up, white, angry, to find the words wither on his lips. How
+could he deny, refute, with to-morrow--nay, to-day--before him? He sat
+down again, wearily, as a man does who is very tired.
+
+"Look here, Bertie." Esme lighted the gas fire, flung off her cloak;
+her hair was tossed, her thin arms and neck bared to the bounds of
+decency, her dress was a sheath outlining each slender limb. "Look
+here!" she said. "You're sick of me. Let's have done with it. I'll meet
+you half-way."
+
+"What do you mean?" he stammered.
+
+"Mean?" She lighted a cigarette, then took a little tablet from a box
+and dropped one into her glass. "This is Nervine--Steadier--what you
+like," she mocked, "and really morphia. My nerves have gone to pieces.
+I mean--go away; refuse to come back; amuse yourself with the fair
+Estelle, and I'll divorce you. Frank Dravelling would marry me," she
+said eagerly.
+
+Bertie gave no answer.
+
+"And I'm sick of this. He's a bleating, mawkish calf, but he's got
+fifteen thousand a year for me to spend, and if I don't, a dozen other
+women will."
+
+Cold disgust gagged him. Had she no sense of decent feeling, to talk
+like this? Was the girl he had married dead?
+
+"He is at the age when he admires rouge and paint," mocked Esme. "He'll
+make me My Lady, and Society will be glad to know me again. I'm sick of
+being no one, of seeing glum looks and tracking round with fifth-rate
+women. Come, Bertie! It's easily arranged."
+
+As swift hands rub blurred glass, so that one can see clearly through
+what was dim, Esme's words let the man's mental eyes look across the
+future.
+
+Estelle, his pure little Estelle! This painted, haggard woman would
+make a cat's-paw of her, drag her shamed name into the maw of the
+press, and stand aloof herself, an injured wife. And he--he--in his
+madness had been about to help her. Hidden by glamour of passion, how
+different it had been to this standing naked, showing its distorted
+limbs. Let sorrow come or go, he knew that he would not now drag the
+woman he loved into sinning. These are the world's laws, men say, yet
+surely God's laws also, since to break them means remorse and
+punishment. Slight bonds of custom, but holding sane humanity.
+
+"You have a curious mind," he said at last. "My God, have you no sense
+of right or wrong, Esme--no shade of decency left?"
+
+"Oh, leave sermons to the Church," she said roughly.
+
+"And supposing"--he got up, stood facing her, man baited, driven to
+bay--"I were to divorce you, my wife?"
+
+"You can't," she said coolly. "If I stay out all night it's with
+companions. And look here, Bertie, I am sick of it all. I say, let me
+divorce you, or I'll take proceedings myself. If you are wise any woman
+of the streets will serve your purpose; if you are not, your pure
+Estelle's name will be in every paper. See!"
+
+She tossed a photograph across to him. A glimpse of sea and cliff, and
+two people asleep, lying close to a bank. Their faces were clear; the
+girl, lying back, had one hand outstretched; the man, his face against
+the bank, had his upon it.
+
+"Repose," said Esme, coarse meaning in her voice, as every shade of
+colour whickered from her husband's face. "Repose by the sea."
+
+The girl's face was Estelle Reynolds; the man's his own.
+
+"Marie's young man is a photographer; he snapped this at the seaside
+one day in June, years ago. Marie brought it to me, commenting on the
+likeness to you. I kept it. Come, Bertie, give me freedom, or I'll take
+it."
+
+Holding the photograph, he saw what its evidence would mean. Idle to
+prate of innocence with this before the jury. It might be printed with
+a dozen suggestive names below it. His uncle would turn against him;
+Estelle would not get over it.
+
+"Well?" she said, watching him.
+
+"No, but ill," he answered. "Yes, it's true. We dropped asleep sitting
+looking at the sea. Pah! what use to tell you?... We merely dropped
+asleep. But if you show this there shall be counter action, Esme."
+
+"As I said," she flung out defiantly--"if I stay out at night, it's
+with companions."
+
+He was ready with his counter-thrust; it darted, swift and true.
+
+"From what companion," he asked slowly, "do you get your money? Do you
+think me a fool, Esme, not to have noticed all that you spend and pay?"
+
+The colour ebbed from her face now, leaving the reddened mouth, the
+rouged cheeks, standing out unnaturally.
+
+Evidence was so easy to find and trump up; she wanted her freedom, but
+with her name untouched--it was her one chance.
+
+"I've known for months or more that there was someone," he went on.
+"There is such a thing as common intelligence, Esme."
+
+"You've known for months and years--known that there was someone," Esme
+repeated; her red lips drew away from her white teeth as she sat,
+stunned. So Bertie had believed her a light woman, untrue to him, a
+creature vending her beauty to some man. That, too, the consequence of
+her deceiving, of her folly.
+
+She sat still, a stricken thing, her eyes alone alive in her face.
+
+"That, I suppose, was why you changed to me," she whispered, in a
+curious metallic voice.
+
+"That was why I ceased to love you--to live with you as your husband,"
+he said simply and very sadly.
+
+"That too!" The words rasped from between her white teeth, and suddenly
+she laughed--a hopeless, mirthless laugh, coming in noisy gusts;
+laughed, sitting there, white and haggard, until the laughter changed
+to gulping, sobbing gasps.
+
+"Don't, Esme, don't," he cried. "Don't laugh like that."
+
+She got up, her rich dress trailing round her thin limbs, the fire of
+her jewels catching the gleams from the electric light.
+
+"So you won't let me divorce you?" she said. "Well, find my
+fellow-sinner if you can, and for the present say good-night to Mrs
+Cain."
+
+Still laughing, she moved slowly across the room, and into her own;
+shut the door quietly behind her.
+
+"That too!" she said. "Cut by Society; suspected by her husband." Oh,
+poor Esme, just because she was a selfish, wicked fool. Poor Esme--who
+was once so happy.
+
+"Marie, I ... have you heard me? Marie--come!"
+
+And then, for the first time, Esme fainted; sank into a merciful
+blackness, lay cold and still, until Marie found her.
+
+Estelle had decked her room with flowers; had put on a soft gown, when
+a messenger brought her a letter.
+
+
+"Estelle, I will not come. You are not a woman for a selfish man to
+drag down. It is good-bye, and not good-bye for me, for I shall never
+lose sight of your dear face; but for you, you are a
+girl--young--forget me. Marry someone you can like; don't leave your
+life empty. Let home and the kiddies be the cloth to wipe my memory out
+with. Estelle, I've woken you. I speak from man to woman, plainly. Go
+to your mother, and marry, for thwarted nature leads to strange
+miseries. Good-bye, Estelle. Last night Esme spoke out, and I saw where
+I was taking you to, and I'll not do it. My place is here, to save my
+wife, for who am I to prate of morality?"
+
+
+Estelle read the letter, folded it up; the world was empty, swept clear
+of love and hope and tenderness.
+
+Very quietly she went to her writing-table, sat down there.
+
+
+"I have just got your letter," she wrote. "You are right, but one word.
+People believe that Esme took, or got, jewels of Lady Blakeney's and
+sold them at Benhusan's and elsewhere. Her money comes from this
+source, they say. That is why people have cut her. I could not tell you
+before, and I was wrong. I do not believe it, but think that they were
+given to her by Denise Blakeney, and that there is some secret between
+them. Estelle."
+
+
+She sent the letter by a cab.
+
+"A thief!" Bertie Carteret turned white to the lips as he read. They
+called his wife a thief. He sat for an hour before he moved. Should he
+go to Cyril Blakeney, fling the foul slander in his face? What should
+he do?
+
+"Move carefully, or I show this."
+
+Esme had the photograph which could brand Estelle before the world. He
+feared it, feared his wife. She came in now, dressed to go out.
+
+"Esme," he said hoarsely, "Esme, do you know why people dropped you?"
+
+"I have never known," she answered coldly. "Come, Bertie, are you more
+sensible to-day? Get out of my life and I'll let your girl's reputation
+be."
+
+She was his wife, bore his name. He told her then, quickly, his brain
+reeling.
+
+"They say that!" she cried wildly. "Denise let that lie pass. Denise
+knew, and let them say I _stole_."
+
+There was no guilt in Esme's storming, but a madness of rage, of blind,
+futile fury.
+
+"Did you sell diamonds?" he asked. "Esme, tell me the truth, and I'll
+see the slander buried. You are my wife."
+
+"I did. I sold them," she flung out. "They have the evidence. But
+Denise gave them to me; she gave me money to buy silence. So that,
+too--that too! all for one thing. A thief to the world--a fallen woman
+to you. A thief! Oh, God! a thief!" Her hands were at her throat; she
+gasped a little. "Oh! I have borne enough," she raged wildly. "And now
+Denise shall suffer. Tell as much truth as will clear me, and give me
+back my own. You don't believe it, Bertie?" There was wild appeal in
+her tortured eyes.
+
+"Before heaven, no, Esme," he rang out.
+
+"And your belief is as false. Before to-morrow you shall know what I
+am, and what I've done, and judge me then. I am going to find Denise.
+I'll send for you."
+
+"What is there between you?" he asked. "What?"
+
+"You'll know to-morrow." There were tears now in her eyes; just at the
+door she turned, held out her hands. "Forgive a sinner, Boy," she
+faltered, "though not the sinner you dream of." In all her bravery and
+paint she was very pitiful.
+
+Before Bertie could answer she had slipped away.
+
+She had gone to the Blakeneys; there was something between the two
+women.
+
+Then Marie, trim, moving deftly, came in.
+
+"Monsieur," she said.
+
+"Well?" He hated the woman who held the photograph and had shown it.
+
+"Monsieur, I would follow Madame. She was distraught, wild! There is
+some secret, Monsieur, between her and Milady Blakeney. Always notes to
+the club, and notes by special messenger for Madame, though it is that
+they do not speak. And, Monsieur, I leave to-day. I go to be married. I
+will speak. Has Monsieur never suspected anything? Before I left
+Madame, Madame was enceinte. I know, I could not be mistaken. The two
+Madames then disappear--alone. Has Monsieur never seen?"
+
+"What?" almost shouted Bertie. He got his hands on the maid's shoulder,
+unconsciously he shook her.
+
+"_How like Milady Blakeney's son is to Madame here_," hissed Marie;
+"that when he was ill Madame sat here as one distraught. Ah! gently,
+Monsieur."
+
+"You mean?" he gulped out, letting go.
+
+"That Milady Blakeney is not the mother of one of her children," said
+the Frenchwoman, softly. "And that sorrow for having parted with her
+child has made Madame so miserable as she is now. Follow her, Monsieur.
+She is worn out from drugged sleep--from remedies full of the cocaine.
+Follow her swiftly."
+
+"Woman, I think you're mad."
+
+With a groan stifled in his throat Bertie ran down the stairs and
+hailed a taxi to drive to Grosvenor Square.
+
+The butler was human; distress and gold broke his reserve.
+
+"Her ladyship was out of town. Master Cecil had not been well, and her
+ladyship and the children were at Trelawney in Devonshire."
+
+Trelawney was the village close to Cliff End.
+
+"Mrs Carteret was here, sir. She got a time-table and looked out the
+trains; she has left for Devonshire, I fancy. There is a fast train
+reaching Trelawney at about four, no other now for some time. Mrs
+Carteret, sir, said she would get a motor, as it would be much quicker."
+
+"You, Carteret!" Cyril Blakeney had driven up in his big car. "What is
+the matter? You look ill."
+
+"Slander's the matter. Mischief's the matter," Bertie burst out. "A
+story too strange for credence is the matter."
+
+"A moment! Come in here. The doorstep's no home for confidence."
+
+"With you--who spread this lying tale!" rasped Bertie.
+
+The two men faced each other. One worn from unhappiness; one big,
+prosperous, untroubled.
+
+"You've only heard it now then? Now, Carteret? Come in here. You're
+ill. Keep the car, Jarvis! Come and hear my side."
+
+There was something dominant in Sir Cyril; his will forced Bertie into
+the dining-room, kept him there to listen to the explanation. There,
+quietly, without any exaggeration, he told the whole story.
+
+"And you believed this? One side," said Bertie, bitterly. "Sir Cyril,
+your wife lied; she gave diamonds to my wife."
+
+"Gave them? Why?" The big man's voice rang in cool contempt. "That's
+your wife's story to you."
+
+"As silence money for some secret. Esme told me that. It must have been
+when they were away in Italy. Sir Cyril, my wife was not lying to-day.
+It was the truth."
+
+"And if mine was?" The big chin stuck out, the heavy brows drew
+together. Cyril Blakeney could always think quickly. "As silence
+money," he muttered.
+
+Bertie talked on, told how he had spoken to Esme, and what she had
+said. "And she was telling the truth," he said proudly. "She's no
+thief, Blakeney."
+
+Denise had spent a great deal of money; Cyril knew that; on charity,
+she said. He had no thought of what it could be. He believed in his
+wife as much as he believed in any woman.
+
+"Come to Trelawney," he said quietly. "My car is at the door. We cannot
+catch a train now, and if your wife is hysterical, overwrought, there
+may be trouble."
+
+As a man in a dream, Bertie went with Sir Cyril, heard the quiet
+questioning, nothing forgotten.
+
+"The tank's fairly full, isn't it? Put out the jack and the levers. We
+shall not want you, Anderson. Now, Carteret. Oh, you'll want a
+coat--take one of mine. We must run fast for it's a long way."
+
+The big Daimler glided off, threading her decorous, restrained way
+through London, gathering speed in the endless dreariness of the
+suburbs, shooting past tradesmen's carts, past suburban children herded
+by nurses in spotless white, for Suburbia on two hundred a year must
+not be surpassed by Belgravia on four thousand. Then the open country,
+the hum of warm engines, the glorious rush of the highly-powered car
+through the sunlit world, spurning the miles, taking the hills
+contemptuously, rushing along the level. Roads showed white ribbons,
+and then when that ribbon was gone another was to be ruled off.
+Policemen sprang out waving angry hands; the red car was past and away,
+and the quiet man who drove did not mean to stop. They stopped once for
+petrol and water, drank a whisky and Perrier, and munched some biscuits.
+
+"Not bad." Cyril Blakeney looked at the clock which marked five as they
+tore into Trelawney. "We left at eleven. Now we shall know."
+
+He drove to a little red-brick house looking on to the bay. Denise had
+brought her Cecil down to grow strong in the soft mild air; the boy had
+caught cold and been delicate.
+
+Mrs Stanson was at the door, her face wrapped in a shawl. She came to
+meet them.
+
+Her ladyship was out, she said, had taken the children to the bay.
+
+"My face ached, Sir Cyril. Her ladyship said she would go alone without
+Ellen."
+
+"Has Mrs Carteret been here?" Sir Cyril asked. "Quickly, nurse, answer!"
+
+Mrs Stanson blushed, faltered. "Yes, Sir Cyril. She came in a motor,
+has gone out to her ladyship. Oh! is anything wrong?"
+
+"Yes!" Cyril Blakeney's face was very quiet, but his eyes gleamed
+thoughtfully. "Where shall we find them, Mrs Stanson?"
+
+There were two bays, one on each side of the town; two stretches of
+firm sands. Mrs Stanson looked dubious.
+
+It appeared that the children had quarrelled as they started. Master
+Cyril wanted to go to the bay to the east, where the big rock ran out
+into the sea. Master Cecil to the west bay.
+
+"Then it is sure to be this way." Sir Cyril turned to the right--to the
+west. "Come, Carteret--we'll walk fast."
+
+Something was making Bertie Carteret afraid. The two men had scarcely
+spoken on the way down. Just once Sir Cyril had asked: "You think
+you're right, Carteret?" and Bertie had answered: "Yes. My wife's no
+thief. She was _given_ those jewels."
+
+"Then there is something," Cyril said. "Something!" and did not speak
+again.
+
+"I'll go the other way." Bertie pointed to the cliffs. "One never
+knows, and Esme was dreadfully excited. I'll go along the cliffs,
+Blakeney; I can see the whole shore, and there are passages leading
+down, and the cliff path is quicker walking."
+
+"Very well! It's all rather a fuss about nothing, isn't it, Carteret?"
+
+Bertie hurried away towards the cliffs. An opal evening was falling on
+the world. The sea glimmered and sparkled out to the sinking sun. As he
+hurried, Bertie could see the woods of Cliff End, and the gables of the
+old house. So far he had seen no one on the beach. The tide was coming
+in, creaming back softly over the sands, nosing upwards on the rocks.
+
+He was coming close to where he had sat with Estelle and known for the
+first time that he loved her. Far below was a stretch of firm sand,
+with a curious rock running out, deep water always at its landward
+side--a treacherous, slippery rock, not high above the water, but its
+sides sheer and steep.
+
+Then he saw Denise Blakeney and his wife. Esme was gesticulating,
+speaking loudly. Denise standing with bent head and outstretched,
+pleading hands. He saw little Cecil playing with his spade, making a
+castle.
+
+The next downward track was some way on. He watched for a minute.
+
+"Bertie!" He swung round, astonished.
+
+Estelle, with lines in her pale face, was on the cliffs.
+
+"You!" he jerked out. "Here--to-day. Why?"
+
+She flushed. "I ... came to say good-bye to the cliff here," she said
+gently. "Where I knew for the first time that you were my world,
+Bertie. I came down this morning. I was walking back to Trelawney now
+to catch a train."
+
+For a minute he forgot everything except that the girl beside him would
+understand and sympathize. He stood pouring out his story; there was no
+hurry.
+
+Estelle listened, saw suddenly that Marie had not dreamed; looked back
+on little incidents.
+
+"Her child!" she muttered. "Poor Esme. Oh, Bertie, listen! we can hear
+what they are saying, and it's as well to know."
+
+The voices rang clearly. Esme was flinging out passionate words,
+demanding justice.
+
+"You'll not take him," Denise cried. "Esme, it would ruin me."
+
+"Did you think when you allowed me to be ruined?" stormed Esme--"saw me
+cut, banned by my friends?"
+
+"You wrote a foolish letter," wailed Denise. "Cyril thought you had
+stolen the diamonds. I never told him so."
+
+"No, but to save yourself you left it at that. You acted a cruel lie.
+Now give me my boy. I have borne enough."
+
+"You cannot prove it," Denise sobbed piteously. "No, Esme, no."
+
+"I can and will. Because I was weak, and loved ease and pleasure, all
+this has come. The world believes me to be a thief--my husband that I
+am an adulteress. At least I'll have my boy. Oh, Denise, do you know
+how I've longed for him? How my whole life has been one ache of regret?"
+
+"But the scandal. Oh, God! I cannot face Cyril." Denise flung herself
+down on the soft sand, gripping it with her hands. "I'll give you more
+money, anything."
+
+"Nothing but the truth will give me back my honour. Where is the boy?"
+
+"Cecil wanted some red seaweed for his castle. Cyril is on the rock
+getting it," said Cecil, looking up. "Mumsie not let Cecil go."
+
+"On the rock!" Esme sprang round.
+
+The two on the cliff could hear the raised voices. With white, strained
+faces they listened, bewildered, almost afraid.
+
+"The boy is hers. It is true," whispered Bertie. "Look, he's out on the
+rock, and it's slippery, dangerous. He ought to keep down."
+
+A little figure was toiling along the sharply-cut edge. The tide was
+washing at the safe side where the rock merged into the sands, so Cyril
+kept high up.
+
+"It's not safe; he may fall. You want to kill him," Esme cried,
+beginning to run towards the rock.
+
+It was safe at low tide, because the sands were bare, but no place for
+baby feet on the upper side above the deep water.
+
+"You would not have let Cecil go," Esme stormed as she hurried on. "Oh,
+Cyril, stop! Keep near the tide."
+
+Perhaps her voice frightened the child as he picked his way. He
+started, slipped, and fell over. In a second a little white face could
+be seen on the calm, dark water.
+
+"Cyril, oh, Cyril! Oh, my baby!" rose a shrieking cry.
+
+With mad haste Esme tore off her skirt and sprang into the sea,
+clutching at the sinking child. She caught him as he came up for the
+third time, and swam back holding him. But the black sides towered
+sheer and straight four feet above her; the seaweed gave as she caught
+it; the child was a dead weight on one arm, and she had hurt the other
+jumping in.
+
+"Get help," she cried. "Get help, Denise."
+
+Denise lay on the sands, shrieking, half-unconscious, useless and
+helpless.
+
+"They'll drown! Go for help, Estelle. I may get down to them in time."
+Bertie swung over the edge of the cliff, beginning a perilous climb.
+
+Another rescuer went hurrying too.
+
+"It's Cyrrie! My Cyrrie, dwownin'."
+
+Baby Cecil left his castle, began to patter out along the rock, sobbing
+as he ran. "Wait, Cyrrie, wait! I tumin' to help. Oh, my Cyrrie!"
+
+Half-way down Bertie knew that he ought to have run on to the path.
+Sometimes he hung and thought he could go no further, then dropped and
+scrambled, and caught some point which saved him. He was still too high
+up to jump when he came to a jutting ledge and could see no way on.
+There, Esme, clinging, slipping, as she called for help, looked up and
+saw him.
+
+"Bertie!" she said. "You followed me."
+
+She stopped calling out, clutched a new piece of seaweed and grew
+strangely quiet.
+
+"Bertie, I'm not worth it," she said. "Don't risk anything."
+
+Voices are strangely clear across the water; hers rang plainly.
+
+"I'll come, Esme. I must find a way. I'll save you."
+
+"I'm going to drown, Bertie. I'm so tired, it won't hurt much; but I've
+time to talk a little."
+
+As he raged up and down his ledge he heard her voice telling, as
+quietly as though they were in some room, safe and sheltered, her story.
+
+"Send for Luigi Frascatelle, he'll identify me as the boy's mother.
+Bertie, I sold my birthright, but I've been punished for it, so forgive
+me now, and keep my Cyrrie--he's alive."
+
+The pity of it as she clung there--young, pretty, once so happy. Truly,
+the punishment had been hard.
+
+"Esme! I see a way. I'll get down in five minutes. Live on and let the
+past be."
+
+Twice she had felt the water at her lips, once her boy had almost
+slipped from her arms.
+
+"I would have swum round but one arm is hurt," she said weakly.
+"Bertie, I think the boy is dying. If he dies let Denise be. Don't tell
+if she will clear my name."
+
+A man ran out along the rock, heard the faltering words.
+
+"By the God above us she shall clear it," stormed Bertie, "and give us
+back our child. No, Esme, no. Oh, wait! I'm down."
+
+He was in the water now, swimming strongly, too late; the last strand
+of weed had parted; weak, tired Esme had slipped to her rest in the
+cool, clear water. And as she went, little Cecil, sobbing wildly,
+holding out his spade, fell over into the sea.
+
+A clawing, twisted woman rose from the sands, screaming wildly, looking
+up as baby Cecil fell over.
+
+Sir Cyril ran past her, kicking off his shoes as he went.
+
+Bertie hesitated for a second, but the struggling, drowning mite had
+fallen in coming to try to save Cyril; he turned, swam to Cecil, and
+carried the child to the rock, where his father leant over.
+
+"Quickly, man!--we'll dive," Sir Cyril cried.
+
+"I give you back your child," Bertie said. "Mine is gone for ever." He
+swam on.
+
+Diving, he brought up Esme, her boy clasped to her.
+
+Estelle had fetched help. They carried the still figures quickly to the
+cliff and back to the house.
+
+"You meant?" Cyril Blakeney said as he went with him, carrying his
+drenched boy.
+
+"Cyril is Esme's child," Bertie said bitterly. "Your wife bought him
+from her. I heard it all as they talked on the sands. She told me where
+to find proof."
+
+"Ah!" said Cyril, slowly. "Ah!"
+
+Denise was tottering behind them, wild with fear, grey-faced, all
+beauty reft from her.
+
+"God send," said Sir Cyril, reverently, "that both come to, and we live
+to repay for the blight we cast on your wife's name, Carteret."
+
+"I cast a worse one," said Bertie, fiercely.
+
+Then long-drawn working, as the living strive with death, as the poor
+quiet body is forced to life. But no working brought a quiver to little
+Cyril; they left him at last quiet in his cot; the motherless boy was
+at peace for ever.
+
+Esme's breath came fluttering. She had closed her eyes on sea and sky,
+opened them to see watching, kindly faces.
+
+"Hush, do not speak," they told her.
+
+"Cyril?" she whispered, and knew without an answer.
+
+"Then let it rest," she murmured, and so drifted out again, this time
+for ever, into the land of shadows, glad to go and rest.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+Denise, half wild, had stumbled in alone, sobbing, shivering,
+unnoticed, as the household worked for the two lives.
+
+Cecil had been put to bed; his hip was hurt; he lay still and
+exhausted; sometimes asking for "Cyrrie--my Cyrrie."
+
+"Not you, mumsie--Cyrrie," he said fretfully. "I couldn't pull Cyrrie
+out--fetch Cyrrie."
+
+Mrs Stanson, weeping for her eldest charge, came in. Seeing her, hope
+leapt up suddenly into Denise's heart.
+
+"The boy, milady?" Mrs Stanson sobbed. "No hope. We've laid him to
+rest."
+
+"And--Mrs Carteret?"
+
+"Came to, and passed away, milady."
+
+The wave of hope swelled high. For as all the punishment had fallen on
+the woman who lay still in the pretty drawing-room, it might lie on her
+still. No one else knew.
+
+"She spoke?" Denise faltered.
+
+"Once, milady--to ask for Master Cyril; and again to say, 'Let it
+rest.'"
+
+"Ah!" The greyness slipped from Denise's cheeks. The dead cannot speak.
+After all, she was to escape.
+
+Then, his big bulk filling the door, her husband came in, Carteret
+following.
+
+"Oh! oh!" she cried, and held her hands out, sobbing. "Oh, Cyrrie! the
+boy and poor Esme. She died to save him. Oh!"
+
+"You can go, Mrs Stanson." The sick fear crept back to Denise
+Blakeney's heart. "Yes, Cyrrie is gone; and now, Denise, you will tell
+the truth."
+
+"The truth," she faltered. "I--and I am so miserable."
+
+"You'll tell how you gave those diamonds to Mrs Carteret. You'll
+publish it in the big papers. That is one part--and then ... now the
+rest of the truth," he thundered. "Oh, you two poor fools."
+
+"But, Cyril--what else?"
+
+"All the rest," came quickly. "Of Italy and Esme Carteret's child."
+
+It was over. Denise tottered to a chair, sat there staring; her
+punishment had fallen at last.
+
+Then, faltering, stumbling, yet afraid to lie, Denise Blakeney told the
+story. Of Esme's fear of poverty; of her own wish for a child. "And
+then it was arranged," she said; "we changed names. The boy was Esme's.
+Luigi Frascatelle, the doctor, can tell you."
+
+"The big, splendid boy was yours, Carteret; the poor, puny mite mine,"
+said Cyril Blakeney, bitterly. "Well done, Denise! When a foolish girl
+was hysterical, foolish, as women are at these times, you advised her
+well. Lord! I know what she felt when I've seen her looking, looking at
+her own boy, with heartbreak in her eyes. I've wondered, but did not
+understand then. It was a pretty plot, milady, to fool me back to an
+untrue wife. Carteret, we are no judges to blame these two, but one has
+known her punishment, and one has not."
+
+"Cyril!" sobbed Denise, "have pity! It was for you."
+
+"For me? Pardon me, for my name and my position, knowing that I meant
+to rid myself of you," he answered coldly. "Carteret, Miss Reynolds is
+with your dead wife--go to her."
+
+"Cyril," moaned Denise again. "You'll not expose me, for the boy's
+sake."
+
+She was on her knees by Cyril's side, sobbing, entreating.
+
+"That is for Carteret to decide," he answered. "Go to your room; you
+will only excite the child."
+
+In the days to come, Denise, fighting for her delicate boy's life, knew
+no open disgrace. One poor foolish woman had borne it all and died; but
+the other left behind knew the misery of daily fear. She was a cipher,
+given no trust or belief; and with her always was the dread that as
+Cecil grew older he would be taken from her.
+
+Cyril Blakeney, an embittered man, never forgave her.
+
+Denise came to him the evening of Esme's death to ask what he would do.
+
+He was writing, making arrangements for the funeral.
+
+"You let a woman be disgraced before the world, you let that boy whom
+you disliked go into danger where no baby should have gone," he said.
+"But you are Cecil's mother--so keep the position you schemed for--and
+no more."
+
+The big man went back to his loneliness; he had loved strong Cyril, had
+dreamt of a boy who would run and shoot and swim and ride; and now,
+Cecil, injured by his fall from the cliff, would be lame for life.
+
+Esme sleeps in a graveyard by the sea; close by her a little grave with
+"Cyril, drowned the 21st of April," on it. And on her tombstone is the
+inscription: "She gave her life to save a child's."
+
+Estelle and Bertie, living in the quiet country, happy, yet with a
+shadow of regret ever with them, guessed, as they came often to the
+grave, what the weak girl must have suffered.
+
+"Judge no human being until you know the truth," said Bertie once, "for
+misery rode poor Esme with a sharp spur across the thorns of
+recklessness. Poor Butterfly, whose day of fluttering in the sunlight
+was so short."
+
+Yet, even with the shadow behind them, two of the players are happy,
+every-day man and woman with troubles and joys.
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+COLSTONS LIMITED, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH
+
+
+
+
+
+March, 1914
+
+JOHN LONG'S ANNOUNCEMENTS
+
+All JOHN LONG'S Books are published in their Colonial Library as nearly
+as possible simultaneously with the English Editions
+
+
+SIX SHILLING NOVELS
+
+Crown 8vo., Cloth Gilt. Many in Three-Colour Wrappers
+
+
++THE GREATER LAW.+ By Victoria Cross, Author of "Anna Lombard," "Five
+Nights," "The Life Sentence," "Life of My Heart," etc.
+
+"The Greater Law" is a story that touches the deepest currents of human
+feeling, vibrating with power and intensity perhaps even more than
+those which have previously emanated from the pen of this intrepid
+writer. The many episodes of a brief romance are treated naturally and
+sincerely and with masterly ability. It is, indeed, a typical Victoria
+Cross novel.
+
+
++SUNRISE VALLEY.+ By Marion Hill, Author of "The Lure of Crooning
+Water," etc. [Not supplied to Canada.]
+
+"The Lure of Crooning Water," by Marion Hill, was one of the fictional
+landmarks of last year, consequently her succeeding book is bound to
+evoke more than ordinary interest. "Sunrise Valley" involves a contrast
+between the ideals of Town and Country; the wealth of Stanley
+Ballantyne, manliest of millionaires, is confronted with the
+independence of Blanche Dering, sweetest of heroines. The novel should
+set the seal upon a victorious beginning.
+
+
++THE WOMAN RUTH.+ By Curtis Yorke, Author of "The Vision of the Years,"
+etc.
+
+Readers of Curtis Yorke do not need to be commended to her latest
+novel. The secret of her continued success is that she never gives us
+less than her best. "The Woman Ruth" epitomises the qualities of head
+and heart to which she has accustomed us. An optimistic view of
+life--tenderness, humour, human sympathy--these are the main weapons in
+this gifted author's bright and shining armoury.
+
+
++SYLVIA.+ By Upton Sinclair, Author of "The Jungle," "The
+Moneychangers," etc. [Not supplied to Australia or Canada.]
+
+"Sylvia" is the greatest work that has come from the pen of this
+brilliant author, surpassing "The Jungle" both in the bigness of its
+theme and in its dramatic intensity. Just as the timeliness of "The
+Jungle" promoted its great success, so "Sylvia" appears at the
+psychological moment when social questions are to the front. It is a
+fascinating story, presenting a girl-character more charming, more
+powerful, more remarkable in every way than Mr. Sinclair has yet drawn,
+while beneath lies a vein of serious purpose, a criticism of
+contemporary ethics which ranks it among the profoundest moral forces
+of the day.
+
+
++DESMOND O'CONNOR.+ By George H. Jessop, Author of "His American Wife,"
+etc.
+
+Desmond O'Connor was a good fighter, a brisk wooer, and a breezy
+companion on the march or in the bivouac. He was one of the many
+wandering Irishmen who drew the sword for France after the siege of
+Limerick. It was while in the service of Louis XIV., in Flanders, that
+he met the lovely Countess Margaret, and surrendered to her charms. One
+will find a no more romantic story of love and war than is contained in
+these pages.
+
+
++BLESSINGTON'S FOLLY.+ By Theodore Goodridge Roberts, Author of "Love
+on Smoky River," etc. [Not supplied to Canada.]
+
+The qualities which made "Love on Smoky River" such an instantaneous
+and unqualified success are again brought into play in the present
+novel. The author unfolds his theme with skill and power, and fully
+maintains the reputation he has gained for telling a good story well.
+
+
++AN UNHOLY ALLIANCE+. By Violet Tweedale, Author of "The House of the
+Other World," etc.
+
+This is a book of a very unusual type. It is a powerful novel dealing
+with Satanism, an evil cult which is making great headway in Europe.
+The man who forms the unholy alliance is Canon Gilchrist, who has been
+unfairly deprived of a peerage, and hopes to regain his position by the
+help of the Powers of Darkness. There is a charming love element, and
+the story shows the author at her best.
+
+
++A GAMBLE FOR LOVE+. By Nat Gould. (For Complete List of Nat Gould's
+Novels see pages 12 and 13).
+
+This novel follows "A Fortune at Stake," the first novel by Nat Gould
+to be issued at the outset at 6_s_. The innovation was an immediate
+success. The new tale, "A Gamble for Love," should undoubtedly win for
+itself many admirers. The hero and heroine have strong dominating
+personalities, and the love interest is well sustained. The element of
+sport of course prevails, and the book may fairly be said to be as
+thrilling as any Mr. Nat Gould has written.
+
+
++THE SECRET CALLING.+. By Olivia Ramsey, Author of "Callista in
+Revolt," etc.
+
+This is a love story of unusual charm dealing with the fortunes of two
+girls. An artist falls in love with one; the other rejects the
+brilliant marriage arranged for her by her worldly aunt. Each girl
+seeks safety in flight. How both are finally won by the men who love
+them is convincingly described by the author. In this book she again
+displays her acknowledged skill as a clever novelist.
+
+
++THE SNAKE GARDEN.+ By Amy J. Baker, Author of "I Too Have Known," "The
+Impenitent Prayer," etc.
+
+As with her two previous successes the scene is laid in South Africa.
+Miss Baker writes with a realism that is the outcome of personal
+experience. Theo, the heroine, is an unusual type of girl, and how she
+straightens out her life is told with rare humour and psychological
+insight. The book is remarkable for its clear-cut pictures of Colonial
+life.
+
+
++THE BELOVED PREMIER.+ By H. Maxwell, Author of "Mary in the Market,"
+"The Paramount Shop," etc.
+
+The author imagines what would happen in England were the authorities
+to govern with absolute disinterestedness and singleness of purpose.
+The picture thus drawn depicts a topsy-turvy world indeed. The story is
+told with much humour and many shrewd thrusts at our most cherished
+institutions. It is an unusual book replete with good things.
+
+
++THREE SUMMERS.+ By Victor L. Whitechurch, Author of "The Canon in
+Residence," "Left in Charge," etc.
+
+Here is a book that will appeal to all who love a good plot and plenty
+of incident. It runs along fresh and sparkling and true to the end. The
+hero and heroine are cleverly depicted in this charming romance, which
+teems with lovable characters. It is a novel which enhances the
+reputation of this popular author.
+
+
++THE RESIDENCY.+ By Henry Bruce, Author of "The Eurasian," "The Native
+Wife," etc.
+
+The previous novels by Henry Bruce have secured for him an appreciative
+following. Like its predecessors, "The Residency" is a story of life in
+India. The heroine is a beautiful Eurasian who, after twenty-two years
+of sheltered life in England, rashly returns to India. The novel is an
+account of the passionate attachment she forms for a Native of rank.
+Mr. Bruce has a power of humour all too rare in these days. He tells
+the narrative in a masterly way.
+
+
++PAUL MOORHOUSE.+ By George Wouil, Author of "Sowing Clover."
+
+_The Morning Post_ said, in reviewing the author's first novel, "Sowing
+Clover": "We shall look for Mr. Wouil's future with every anticipation
+of continuous and increasing delight." The second novel is another
+Black Country study, but of much greater dramatic power. It depicts the
+central character, reared in poverty, without influence or promise; of
+the struggles of youth; of artisan life, the prospect of a "little
+'ome" and drab respectability; of ambition; of the coming of love; of
+the making of a gentleman, and the battle with environment.
+
+
++THE WIDOW OF GLOANE.+ By D. H. Dennis, Author of "Crossroads," etc.
+
+Mr. D. H. Dennis is one of the most promising exponents of the modern
+school of fiction. His new Work contains a capital idea. Phyllis, the
+heroine, who is a charming young widow when the story opens, meets and
+marries the playmate of her childhood. The narrative is full of good
+things, of wit as well as wisdom, and readers who like their fiction to
+be brainy as well as human will thoroughly enjoy its pages.
+
+
++THE BARBARIANS.+ By James Blyth, Author of "Rubina," "Amazement," etc.
+
+The marital relationship is the keynote of "The Barbarians" Original,
+virile, human, bold and sympathetic, the novel, both in interest and
+craftsmanship, is a worthy successor of a sequence of brilliantly
+limned portraits of the feminine character. It is the tale that
+matters, and as a story teller Mr. Blyth may well challenge comparison.
+
+
++UNDER COVER OF NIGHT.+ By R. Murray Gilchrist, Author of "Weird
+Wedlock," etc.
+
+A book of vivid atmosphere, probably the best of this author's novels
+of incident. Throughout, the strange country background, with its
+swiftly moving folk, gentle and simple, reminds one of a weird and
+fascinating drama. The contrast between the quiet inn house, and the
+dilapidated hall with its guilty secret, is admirably depicted. The
+plot is excellently fashioned and the unfolding of the mystery done
+with admirable restraint. The author understands to perfection the art
+of thrilling his readers.
+
+
++MAIDS OF SALEM.+ By K. L. Montgomery, Author of "The Gate-Openers,"
+"The Cardinal's Pawn," etc.
+
+The witch-persecution of New England, one of the most dramatic chapters
+of American history, is the theme of K. L. Montgomery's new novel. The
+scene is Salem, Massachusetts Bay. The story is one of tragedy and
+romance, told in the inimitable way with which the author's admirers
+have been so charmed by her previous books.
+
+
++THE DICE OF LOVE.+ By Edmund Bosanquet Author of "A Society Mother,"
+"Mary's Marriage," etc.
+
+Since the days of "A Society Mother," Mr. Edmund Bosanquet has gone
+far, and this, his latest romance, will more than satisfy the
+expectations of his admirers. The characters are never insipid, and
+have the happy knack of getting on the right side of the reader
+immediately. There is a sustained brilliance about the book which
+augurs well for its success.
+
+
++THE MEMOIRS OF PRINCESS ARNULF.+
+
+These reminiscences form the record of the intimate life of the
+Princess Arnulf and her royal relatives. Not for many years has a work
+of such extraordinary interest been given to the reading public. It is
+the mart of news, of scandal, of rumour, of intrigue, of a galaxy of
+princes, courtiers, men and women of rank and fashion, of sullied
+virtue and invidious attachments.
+
+
++WHY SHE LEFT HIM.+ By Florence Warden, Author of "Love's Sentinel,"
+etc.
+
+Miss Warden's gypsy heroine forms a very interesting study. It would be
+unfair to explain the plot of the story, but behind it is tragedy. The
+hero, Lord Tregaron, is a well-drawn personage, and so, indeed, are the
+other characters clustered around the charming heroine.
+
+
++THE MAZE.+ By A. L. Stewart.
+
+"The Maze" is the love story of a famous operatic singer who marries
+her protege, a violinist considerably younger than herself. As is
+inevitable, their gifts clash and jealousy ensues. The plot is cleverly
+unfolded, and the book reaches a satisfactory conclusion. The scene is
+laid in London, Paris, and the West of England.
+
+
++THE OYSTER.+ By a Peer, Author of "The Hard Way," "The Decoy Duck,"
+etc.
+
+The Novels of a Peer are distinguished among present-day fiction by
+their brilliant literary qualities and their deep emotional appeal to
+human hearts and sympathies. They are addressed to men and women who
+know the world and the significance of life: their keynote is strength.
+The _motif_ of this enthralling story is centred upon the maternal
+instinct--the profoundest of all human feelings. An idea of consummate
+originality is presented in a manner free from reproach or any
+suspicion of pruriency.
+
+
++A MILLION FOR A SOUL.+ By Mrs. C. E. Phillimore, Author of "Two Women
+and a Maharajah."
+
+An Irish patriot bequeaths to his child, as her sole inheritance, his
+love for drink. She marries in India and through constant strain
+succumbs to the degrading habit. Cast off by her husband, her lover
+seeks to regain her and effect her regeneration. The story ends with
+this achieved, though the manner of its accomplishment is by way of the
+unexpected.
+
+
++THE WHITE VAMPIRE.+ By A. M. Judd, Author of "Lot's Wife," etc.
+
+This is a powerful story of love, hate, revolution, and revenge, woven
+around the central figure of a beautiful, fascinating, unscrupulous
+woman who lures men to ruin and then dooms them to a horrible fate.
+Retribution overtakes her at last through the love of one of her
+victims. The book contains many thrilling episodes, and the ending is
+highly dramatic.
+
+
++LAW THE WRECKER.+ By Charles Igglesden, Author of "Clouds," etc.
+
+Is it feasible that a sane man may be sent to a lunatic asylum? This
+vital question is answered by Mr. Igglesden in "Law the Wrecker." The
+author is especially qualified to deal with the subject, as he has
+acted as certifying magistrate for many years and been a governor of a
+county lunatic asylum. Life in a lunatic asylum is vividly and
+truthfully described. The plot is an exciting one with many dramatic
+situations, a young Colonial trying against heavy odds to prove his
+sanity to the girl he loves, and she in turn struggling with the doubt
+that racks her mind.
+
+
++MARY'S MARRIAGE.+ By Edmund Bosanquet, Author of "A Society Mother,"
+"Catching a Coronet," etc.
+
+Securing public favour at the first time of asking--such is this
+author's almost unique record. That he has come to stay may be gathered
+from the progressive successes he has achieved since the days of "A
+Society Mother." This novel follows its predecessors in that it makes
+the same direct appeal to the average human heart. Readers in their
+thousands and tens of thousands will rejoice to know something about
+the heroine and her wayward marriage.
+
+
++THE ENCHANTING DISTANCE.+ By Lilian Arnold, Author of "The Storm-Dog,"
+etc.
+
+This is a love story, in the development of which it becomes apparent
+that things are seldom what they seem and that the most passionate
+attachments are rarely based on pure reason. The adventures of the
+heroine in search of a life of her own in London are told with much
+humour.
+
+
++A BESPOKEN BRIDE.+ By Fred Whishaw, Author of "Nathalia," etc.
+
+Mr. Fred Whishaw's description in this novel of the gallant little
+nation, Finland, fighting to a man and woman against inevitable
+absorption by the irresistible giant at the threshold, is moving and
+holds the reader. Every Finn is a resister, active or passive. Some
+fight wisely, some foolishly, but all fight and all sacrifice self for
+the sake of the Motherland and her disappearing rights and privileges.
+
+
++SALAD DAYS.+ By the Author of "Improper Prue," "The Price of
+Possession," etc.
+
+This amusing novel can well be called a comedy of youth, for it depicts
+the invasion of a well-ordered English bachelor by a good-intentioned
+humourless Irish girl and twin young men of free and easy disposition.
+The bachelors are Mr. Weatherby, most chivalrous of victims, and his
+nephew, Richard Torr, an Oxford exquisite, who tries hard to save his
+own and his uncle's dignity under the most trying conditions. It is a
+book that men and women will laugh at and enjoy.
+
+
++FROM PILLAR TO POST.+ By Alice M. Diehl, Author of "Incomparable
+Joan," etc.
+
+For the many readers of Mrs. Diehl's novels the present story will be
+rather a new departure in female portraiture. The heroine's
+aristocratic descent, conflicting with her father's democratic ideas,
+is the pivot on which much of the tale turns. Her experiences as a
+wife, and yet all the time no wife, go to make up a very fascinating
+romance which shows that the author has lost none of her power.
+
+
++CALLISTA IN REVOLT.+ By Olivia Ramsey, Author of "A Girl of No
+Importance," etc.
+
+This dainty love-story is told with great charm and skill. A beautiful
+girl is forced, through adverse circumstances, to lead a monotonous
+existence in an isolated village. It is here that she is discovered by
+the wealthy Bruce Armadale, whose force of character is powerfully
+drawn. A dazzling dancer of London fame is introduced as a dangerous
+rival for his affection, and her plot to separate the lovers is
+convincingly told.
+
+
++THE RANSOM FOR LONDON.+ By J. S. Fletcher, Author of "The Bartenstein
+Case," etc.
+
+This is one of the most enthralling conceptions that has yet appeared
+in realistic fiction. From the advent of the stranger at the week-end
+retreat of the Prime Minister, with his demand for ten millions
+sterling as the ransom for London, right through to the end, the
+narrative compels attention. Mr. Fletcher has in this story surpassed
+himself.
+
+
++ANGELS IN WALES.+ By Margam Jones, Author of "The Stars of the
+Revival," etc.
+
+A tale of Welsh life in the last century, describing faithfully and
+vividly, in the glow of a sympathetic imagination, the joys and sorrows
+of the Celtic soul, and having for its central theme the all-important
+problem of true life. Here the lover of fiction will be continually
+charmed by a mysterious revelation of hidden life clothed in a new
+dress of spiritual psychology.
+
+
++THE PRICE OF CONQUEST.+ By Ellen Ada Smith, Author of "The Only
+Prison," etc.
+
+The story has its setting partly in the west country and partly amidst
+the changes and chances of London musical life. As a risen Star,
+Sigismund Wirth is happy as only the successful can be. How at last his
+weakness is discovered and his final victory over self achieved is
+shown in this clever novel.
+
+
++FAITH AND UNFAITH.+ By James Blyth, Author of "Rubina," "Amazement,"
+etc.
+
+This novel is the study of a woman's love. The theme is developed with
+the certainty of touch and the clearness of vision which are the gifts
+of experience in life and art. It is as engrossing as the author's
+previous works, and a notable addition to his gallery of brilliant pen
+portraits of beautiful, frail women.
+
+
++THE RED WEDDING.+ By E. Scott Gillies, Author of "A Spark on Steel,"
+etc.
+
+The novel deals with one of the stormiest periods of history and of the
+fierce feud between two Highland Clans, each so powerful that Queen
+Elizabeth sought to gain their friendship for England against the
+Scottish Sovereign, James IV. It is a story of love and jealousy and
+the gradual success of the true lover in the face of all obstacles.
+
+
++ENVIRONMENT.+ By Mrs. A. M. Floyer.
+
+The story illustrates the influence of environment upon character. The
+plot consists of episodes, amatory, humorous and otherwise, in the
+lives of people who are not always in their proper element. It should
+appeal to all who like something out of the beaten track.
+
+
+RECENT POPULAR NOVELS
+
+SIX SHILLINGS EACH
+
+Several of these novels were the successes of last year. Some reached
+the distinction of a Second Edition and even a Third Edition, whilst
+with "The Lure of Crooning Water" a Thirteenth Edition was called for.
+
+  LOVE ON SMOKY RIVER             Theodore G. Roberts
+  SOWING CLOVER                   George Wouil
+  THE  PARAMOUNT SHOP             H. Maxwell
+  A FORTUNE AT STAKE              Nat Gould
+  THE EURASIAN                    Henry Bruce
+  MAZE OF SCILLY                  E. J. Tiddy
+  ETELKA                          Stanley Ford
+  A SOCIAL INNOCENT               R. St. John Colthurst
+  GREEN  GIRL                     Mrs. Henry Tippett
+  THE WISDOM OF THE FOOL          By "coronet"
+  THE ELUSIVE WIFE                R. Penley
+  LOT'S WIFE                      A. M. Judd
+  AN OFFICER AND A--              E. D. Henderson
+  YOUNG EVE AND OLD ADAM          Tom Gallon
+  THE VAUDEVILLIANS               Anonymous
+  A HANDFUL OF DAYS               Hal D'arcy
+  CROSSROADS                      D. H. Dennis
+  LIGHT FINGERS AND DARK EYES     Vincent Collier
+  THE MAN IN THE CAR              Alan Raleigh
+  THE LURE OF CROONING WATER      Marion Hill
+  THE DECOY DUCK                  By a Peer
+  LEVITY HICKS                    Tom Gallon
+  OUR ALTY                        M. E. Francis
+  QUEER LITTLE JANE               Curtis Yorke
+  CATCHING A CORONET              Edmund Bosanquet
+  THE HOUSE OF THE OTHER WORLD    Violet Tweedale
+  THE ONLY PRISON                 Ellen Ada Smith
+  A GIRL OF NO IMPORTANCE         Olivia Ramsey
+  UNQUENCHED FIRE                 Alice Gerstenberg
+  MARY IN THE MARKET              H. Maxwell
+  THE IMPENITENT PRAYER           Amy J. Baker
+  THE LITTLE  MAISTER             R. H. Forster
+  LOVE'S SENTINEL                 Florence Warden
+  INCOMPARABLE JOAN               Alice M. Diehl
+  THE VISION OF THE YEARS         Curtis Yorke
+  HIS AMERICAN WIFE               George H. Jessop
+  WEIRD WEDLOCK                   R. Murray Gilchrist
+  THIN ICE                        Anne Weaver
+  A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCE        Charles Loewenthal
+                                   (Low Lathen)
+
+
+
+THE WORLD'S FAVOURITE AUTHOR
+
+ATHENAEUM, June 10th, 1911, says:--"All living writers are headed by Mr.
+Nat Gould, and of the great of the past, Dumas only surpasses his
+popularity."
+
+TRUTH, Jan. 22nd, 1913, says:--"Who is the most popular of living
+novelists? Mr. Nat Gould easily and indisputably takes the first place."
+
+
+The Novels of Nat Gould
+
+Sales now exceed NINE MILLION Copies!
+
+NAT GOULD'S NEW 6/- NOVEL
+
+
+A GAMBLE FOR LOVE
+
+[Ready in April, 1914]
+
+All Mr. Nat Gould's NEW Novels will now be issued at the outset at 6s.,
+Crown 8vo., in handsome Cloth Gilt, over 300 pages, with Wrapper in
+Three Colours. They will also be issued simultaneously in John Long's
+Colonial Library at 3s. 6d., Cloth, with Special design, also Wrapper
+in Three Colours; and 2s. 6d. with Stiff Paper Covers in Three Colours.
+
+
+RECENTLY PUBLISHED AND UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE
+
+A FORTUNE AT STAKE
+
+[Third Edition.]
+
+Remarkable success attended the publication of this, Mr. Nat Gould's
+First Novel to be issued at the outset at 6s. The large First Edition
+was soon exhausted, and Second and Third Editions have been called for,
+thus proving that Mr. Nat Gould has a very big following in the Library
+and Colonial form.
+
+N.B.--Messrs. JOHN LONG are the SOLE Publishers of all Mr. Nat Gould's
+New Novels and control the output. To ensure a long run with the
+Library and Colonial Editions they will not publish the 1s. net Edition
+until at least a year, and the 6d. Edition until over two years, after
+the publication of the more expensive Edition. But in the meantime
+there will be the usual periodical 6d. issues of Novels by Mr. Nat
+Gould that have already appeared at 2s. and 1s.
+
+
+NAT GOULD'S NOVELS at 1s. and 2s.
+
+Crown 8vo. Paper Cover, three colours, 1s. net; cloth gilt, 2s.
+
+   THE CHANCE OF A LIFETIME
+   THE KING'S FAVOURITE
+   A CAST OFF
+  *THE PHANTOM HORSE
+  *LEFT IN THE LURCH
+  *THE BEST OF THE SEASON
+   GOOD AT THE GAME
+   A MEMBER OF TATT'S
+   THE TRAINER'S TREASURE
+   THE HEAD LAD
+
+* Nat Gould's Annual, 1911, '12, '13 respectively.
+
+
+NAT GOULD'S NOVELS at 6d.
+
+In large demy 8vo., thread sewn. Striking cover in three colours
+
+  #A GREAT COUP January 21st, 1914
+
+  *ONE OF A MOB
+  *THE SELLING PLATER
+   A BIT OF A ROGUE
+  *THE LADY TRAINER
+  *A STRAIGHT GOER
+  *A HUNDRED TO ONE CHANCE
+  *A SPORTING SQUATTER
+   THE PET OF THE PUBLIC
+  *CHARGER AND CHASER
+   THE LOTTERY COLT
+   A STROKE OF LUCK
+  *THE TOP WEIGHT
+  #THE KING'S FAVOURITE April, 1914
+  *THE DAPPLE GREY
+  *WHIRLWIND'S YEAR
+  *THE LITTLE WONDER
+   A BIRD IN HAND
+  *THE BUCKJUMPER
+  *THE JOCKEY'S REVENGE
+   THE PICK OF THE STABLE
+  #THE STOLEN RACER
+  #A RECKLESS OWNER
+  #THE ROARER
+  #THE LUCKY SHOE
+   QUEEN OF THE TURF
+  #A CAST OFF July, 1914
+
+* Also at 2s. picture boards, and 2s, 6d. cloth gilt.
+
+# Also at 2s. cloth gilt, and 1s. net paper.
+
+
+
+NAT GOULD'S ANNUAL, 1914
+
+THE FLYER
+
+(Twelfth Year)
+
+Cleverly illustrated. Cover in three colours. Paper, thread sewn, 1s.
+Large demy 8vo.
+
+READY FOR EXPORT END OF AUGUST. ORDER NOW.
+
+
+
+THE MAGIC OF SPORT
+
+Being the LIFE STORY OF NAT GOULD, written by himself
+
+With over 50 Illustrations of Notable Sportsmen, Places and Horses and
+Photogravure Portrait of the Author. Demy 8vo. 370 pages, handsomely
+bound, Gilt Top. Price 12s. 6d. net.
+
+For further List of Nat Gould's Novels see page facing
+
+
+
++JOHN LONG'S FAMOUS 1/- NET SERIES+
+
+N.B.--All the Volumes in this Series are most attractively bound in
+three-colour covers, art paper, thread sewn
+
++NEW VOLUMES FOR 1914+
+
+
++LIFE OF MY HEART.+ By VICTORIA CROSS.
+
+_Now first published in 1/- form._
+
+Victoria Cross's immense popularity rests on the fame she achieved with
+"Anna Lombard" and "Five Nights," and in "Life of My Heart" we have a
+worthy successor. It is a story of intense passion and dramatic
+interest.
+
+
++THE STORY OF MY LIFE+. By EVELYN THAW. With 8 portraits of the
+principal characters. _Now first published._
+
+In this remarkable book Evelyn Thaw unbosoms herself to the world, and
+now for the first time gives her full life history in all its vivid
+details.
+
+
++THE LIFE OF LENA.+ By W. N. WILLIS, ex-M.P.
+
+(Australia), Author of "Why Girls Go Wrong," "The White Slave Market,"
+etc. _Now first published._
+
+Few tales within recent years have been so realistic, and the book from
+its sincerity should appeal to the hearts of all thinking men and
+women. Mr. W. N. Willis is an author whose books sell in tens of
+thousands.
+
+
++SONNICA.+ By VICENTE BLASCO IBANEZ, Author of "Blood and Sand," "The
+Shadow of the Cathedral," etc.
+
+_Now first published._
+
+Vicente Blasco Ibanez is the most brilliant author of the modern school
+of Spanish fiction, and in this daring novel he is probably seen at his
+best. In "Sonnica" the publishers believe they have discovered a second
+"Quo Vadis."
+
++Volumes already published+
+
+  THE LIFE SENTENCE                          Victoria Cross
+  FIVE NIGHTS                                Victoria Cross
+  ANNA LOMBARD                               Victoria Cross
+  A WIFE IMPERATIVE                          By a Peer
+  THEO                                       By a Peer
+  TO JUSTIFY THE MEANS                       By a Peer
+  THE HARD WAY                               By a Peer
+  THE SPINSTER                               Hubert Wales
+  CYNTHIA IN THE WILDERNESS                  Hubert Wales
+  MR. AND MRS. VILLIERS                      Hubert Wales
+  THE WIFE OF COLONEL HUGHES                 Hubert Wales
+  HILARY THORNTON                            Hubert Wales
+  A PRIESTESS OF HUMANITY                    Mrs. Stanley Wrench
+  A PERFECT PASSION                          Mrs. Stanley Wrench
+  BURNT WINGS                                Mrs. Stanley Wrench
+  LOVE'S FOOL                                Mrs. Stanley Wrench
+  FOLLY'S GATE                               James Blyth
+  A COMPLEX LOVE AFFAIR                      James Blyth
+  THE MEMBER FOR EASTERBY                    James Blyth
+  THORA'S CONVERSION                         James Blyth
+  THE PENALTY                                James Blyth
+  AMAZEMENT                                  James Blyth
+  RUBINA                                     James Blyth
+  CHICANE                                    Oliver Sandys
+  THE WOMAN IN THE FIRELIGHT                 Oliver Sandys
+  DECREE                                     Lady X
+  THE DIARY OF MY HONEYMOON                  Lady X
+  THE STORM OF LONDON                        F. Dickberry
+  A SOCIETY MOTHER                           Edmund Bosanquet
+  I TOO HAVE KNOWN                           Amy J. Baker
+  THE DUPLICATE DEATH                        A. C. Fox-Davies
+  A HOUSEHOLD                                Jerrard Syrett
+  CONFESSIONS OF CLEODORA                    Carlton Dawe
+  SECRET HISTORY OF THE COURT OF BERLIN      Henry W. Fischer
+  MIGHTY MAYFAIR                             "Coronet"
+  CONFESSIONS OF A PRINCESS                  Anonymous
+  IMPROPER PRUE                              Anonymous
+  THE PRICE OF POSSESSION                    Author of "Improper Prue"
+  THE PROGRESS OF PAULINE KESSLER            Author of "The Adventures
+                                                of John Johns"
+
+
+JOHN LONG'S 1/- NET (CLOTH) NOVELS
+
+_Crown 8vo. Cloth gilt. Wrappers in three colours_
+
+NEW VOLUMES FOR 1914
+
+  THE LURE OF CROONING WATER                 Marion Hill
+  OFF THE MAIN ROAD                          Victor L. Whitechurch
+  THE STORM-DOG                              Lilian Arnold
+  THE REALIST                                E. Temple Thurston
+
+_Volumes already published_
+
+  THE GREAT GAY ROAD                         Tom Gallon
+  HIS MASTER PURPOSE                         Harold Bindloss
+  THE MASK                                   William Le Queux
+  FOR FAITH AND NAVARRE                      May Wynne
+  KISSING CUP THE SECOND                     Campbell Rae-Brown
+  THE GREAT NEWMARKET MYSTERY                Campbell Rae-Brown
+  A JILT'S JOURNAL                           Rita
+  ADA VERNHAM--ACTRESS                       Richard Marsh
+  SWEET "DOLL" OF HADDON HALL                J. E. Muddock
+  THE OLD ALLEGIANCE                         Hubert Wales
+
++JOHN LONG'S 7d. NET (CLOTH) NOVELS+
+
+A New Series of copyright Novels which, in more expensive form, have
+achieved marked success. They are printed in clear type, newly set, on
+good paper, tastefully bound in Red Cloth, full gilt back, with
+attractive pictorial wrapper in three colours. Each volume has a
+decorative title-page with frontispiece, both on Art paper.
+
++_NEW VOLUMES FOR 1914_+
+
+  19 A BRIDE FROM THE SEA (2nd Feb.)        Guy Boothby
+  33 THE GOLD RAIL (2nd Feb.)               Harold Bindloss
+  23 THE GRASS  WIDOW (2nd Mar.)            Dorothea Gerard
+  25 THE GIRL IN GREY (2nd Mar.)            Curtis Yorke
+  24 THRICE ARMED (1st Apr.)                Harold Bindloss
+  38 OUR ALTY (1st Apr.)                    M. E. Francis
+  34 MOLLIE DEVERILL (4th May)              Curtis Yorke
+  39 MEMORY CORNER (4th May)                Tom Gallon
+  35 A GLORIOUS LIE (25th May)              Dorothea Gerard
+  40 THE BARTENSTEIN CASE (25th May)        J. S. Fletcher
+  36 ALTON OF SOMASCO (22nd June)           Harold Bindloss
+  37 IRRESPONSIBLE KITTY (22nd June)        Curtis Yorke
+
++_VOLUMES NOW READY_+
+
+   1 FATHER ANTHONY                         Robert Buchanan
+   2 DELILAH OF THE SNOWS                   Harold Bindloss
+   3 ONLY BETTY                             Curtis Yorke
+   4 THE GARDEN OF MYSTERY                  Richard Marsh
+   5 IN SPITE OF THE CZAR                   Guy Boothby
+   6 THE VEILED MAN                         William le Queux
+   7 THE SIN OF JASPER STANDISH             Rita
+   8 A BORDER SCOURGE                       Bertram Mitford
+   9 WAYWARD ANNE                           Curtis Yorke
+  10 THE GREATER POWER                      Harold Bindloss
+  11 A CABINET SECRET                       Guy Boothby
+  12 THE EYE OF ISTAR                       William le Queux
+  13 A WOMAN PERFECTED                      Richard Marsh
+  14 HYPOCRITES AND SINNERS                 Violet Tweedale
+  15 THE SILENT HOUSE                       Fergus Hume
+  16 BY RIGHT OF PURCHASE                   Harold Bindloss
+  17 THE OTHER SARA                         Curtis Yorke
+  18 LITTLE JOSEPHINE                       L.T. Meade
+  20 THE MAGNETIC GIRL                      Richard Marsh
+  21 THE MATHESON MONEY                     Florence Warden
+  22 CRIMSON LILIES                         May Crommelin
+  26 THE LADY OF THE ISLAND                 Guy Boothby
+  27 THE WHITE HAND AND THE BLACK           Bertram Mitford
+  28 THE STOLEN EMPEROR                     Mrs. Hugh Fraser
+  29 A MAN OF TO-DAY                        Helen Mathers
+  30 THE PENNILESS MILLIONAIRE              David C. Murray
+  31 LINKS IN THE CHAIN                     Headon Hill
+  32 AN INNOCENT IMPOSTOR                   Maxwell Gray
+
+
+
++JOHN LONG'S NEW 6d. (PAPER) NOVELS+
+
+The new, up-to-date Cover Designs by leading Artists, printed in three
+colours on Art paper, are the most effective that have ever adorned a
+Sixpenny Series. This, combined with the established popularity of the
+authors, will ensure for JOHN LONG'S 6d. (Paper) Novels first place in
+the public esteem. Good paper, clear type. Thread sewn. Size 9 inches
+by 6.
+
+
+Volumes for 1914
+
+  1.  SOMETHING IN THE CITY              Florence Warden
+  2.  THE TURNPIKE HOUSE                 Fergus Hume
+  3.  MIDSUMMER MADNESS                  Mrs. Lovett Cameron
+  4.  MRS. MUSGRAVE AND HER HUSBAND      Richard Marsh
+  5.  THE SIN OF HAGAR                   Helen Mathers
+  6.  DELPHINE                           Curtis Yorke
+  7.  TRAITOR AND TRUE                   John Bloundelle-burton
+  8.  THE OTHER MRS. JACOBS              Mrs. Campbell Praed
+  9.  THE COUNTESS OF MOUNTENOY          John Strange Winter
+ 10.  THE WOOING OF MONICA               L. T. Meade
+ 11.  THE WORLD MASTERS                  George Griffith
+ 12.  HIS ITALIAN WIFE                   Lucas Cleeve
+ 13.  No. 3, THE SQUARE                  Florence Warden
+ 14.  MISS ARNOTT'S MARRIAGE             Richard Marsh
+ 15.  THE THREE DAYS' TERROR             J. S. Fletcher
+ 16.  THE JUGGLER AND THE SOUL           Helen Mathers
+ 17.  THE HARVEST OF LOVE                C. Ranger Gull
+ 18.  BITTER FRUIT                       Mrs. Lovett Cameron
+ 19.  BENEATH THE VEIL                   Adeline Sergeant
+ 20.  THE BRANGWYN MYSTERY               David Christie Murray
+ 21.  FUGITIVE ANNE                      Mrs. Campbell Praed
+ 22.  IN SUMMER SHADE                    Mary E. Mann
+ 23.  A JILT'S JOURNAL                   Rita
+ 24.  THE SCARLET SEAL                   Dick Donovan
+
+N.B.--The first Eight will be published March 16th. There will then be
+an interval of one month, when, commencing April 20th, the volumes will
+appear fortnightly, two at a time, until July 27th.
+
+
+
+GENERAL LITERATURE
+
+
++OSCAR WILDE AND MYSELF.+ By Lord Alfred Douglas. With rare Portraits
+and Illustrations. Demy 8vo. Price 10s. 6_d._ net.
+
+Some of Oscar Wilde's biographers are persons who had only a nodding
+acquaintance with him, and others had no acquaintance at all. But in
+their writings there is one name which is linked with Wilde's and is
+second only in importance to it--the name of Lord Alfred Douglas. After
+long years Lord Alfred has decided to break the silence and to give the
+real facts about his relations with Wilde from the period when Wilde
+was at the top of his fame to the time of his tragedy and death. "Oscar
+Wilde and Myself" contains a serious side inasmuch as it deals with the
+grave disasters which this friendship has brought upon Lord Alfred. It
+possesses another side in the analysis of the purely literary aspect of
+Wilde's work; and a large number of anecdotes and sayings of Wilde are
+included which have never before been printed. It gives also an account
+of the Wilde circle, which included the most prominent persons of the
+period. Of Lord Alfred Douglas's literary gifts his worst enemy is in
+no doubt, and this work, apart from its great personal import, will
+give the quietus to much that is false which has grown round the Oscar
+Wilde tradition.
+
+
+BELGIUM, HER KINGS, KINGDOM, AND PEOPLE. By John  de  Courcy
+Macdonnell.  Fully illustrated. Demy 8vo.  Price 15_s._ net.
+
+The lives of Leopold I., Leopold II., and King Albert told with a
+wealth of intimate detail which up till now has been withheld, the true
+story of the Belgian Revolution, untold by any English writer ere this,
+and much that is new and interesting about all the leading people in
+Belgium, from Royalties to Anarchists. The author describes the Belgian
+people, their mode of living, their thrift, their industry--the country
+itself, the forests, the mining districts, the crowded cities--and
+throws fresh light on many aspects of Belgian politics.
+
+
++THE BONDS OF AFRICA.+ By Owen Letcher, F.R.G.S., Author of "Big Game
+Hunting in North-Eastern Rhodesia." With 50 Illustrations from
+Photographs and a Map. Demy 8vo. Price 12_s._ 6_d._ net.
+
+Mr. Owen Letcher is a young Englishman who has spent the past eleven
+years in Africa and has wandered into well-nigh unknown portions of the
+Dark Continent to hunt big game and to pry into the lives of the
+natives inhabitant of the remotest corners of it. Quite apart from its
+value to the traveller, the sportsman, and the student of natural
+history, the book possesses a remarkable human interest. Mr. Letcher
+knows Africa from Cape Town to the City of the Pharaohs, and, as the
+work covers an enormous field of but little known land in Southern,
+North-Western and North-Eastern Rhodesia, Nyasaland, British East
+Africa, and Uganda, its merits from a geographical point of view are
+undoubted.
+
+
++MADAME DU BARRY.+ By Edmond and Jules de Goncourt. With Photogravure and
+numerous other Portraits. Demy 8vo. Price 12_s_. 6_d_. net.
+
+One of the most marvellously minute and realistic specimens of
+biography to be found. No pains have been spared to obtain all the
+information available with reference to the extraordinary woman who,
+born out of wedlock in the little French town of Vaucouleurs, became
+the mistress of Louis XV., and after a career of reckless extravagance,
+perished on the guillotine.
+
+
++STORIES OF SOCIETY.+ By Charles E. Jerningham ("Marmaduke" of _Truth_).
+With numerous Portraits. Demy 8vo. Price 10_s_. 6_d_. net.
+
+In his life spent amongst the clubs and the drawing-rooms of Mayfair
+the author (for more than twenty years "Marmaduke" of _Truth_) has
+become familiar with the skeletons lurking in the cupboards of Society,
+and there is no writer of to-day who is more fully or happily equipped
+to fulfil the function of a social satirist.
+
+
++THE PURPOSE: Reflections and Digressions.+ By Hubert Wales. With
+Portrait. Crown 8vo. Price 5_s_. net.
+
+Mr. Hubert Wales' object in this book is to discuss serious subjects in
+a style and within a compass compatible with modern exigencies and
+habits. No longer the hidden operator pulling the strings that move his
+puppets, he draws aside the curtain, appears in his own person, and
+talks familiarly with his readers upon such absorbing and vital topics
+as Life and Death, Ethics, Sex and Beauty.
+
+
++HOUNDS.+ By Frank Townend Barton, M.R.C.V.S. With 37 Illustrations from
+Photographs. Crown 8vo. Price 5_s_. net.
+
+An entirely new and original work dealing with the most important
+varieties of hounds. Each variety is exhaustively dealt with, not only
+in relation to the conformation, but in matters appertaining to
+feeding, breeding, rearing, showing, health and sport, etc., etc.
+
+
++ARTEGAL: a Drama; Poems and Ballads.+ By B. C. Hardy, Author of
+"Philippa of Hainault and Her Times," "The Princesse de Lamballe," etc.
+Crown 8vo. Price 3_s_. 6_d_. net.
+
+
++BEQUEATHED MID-OCEAN.+ By Blanche Adelaide Brock, Author of "Fire
+Fantasies," etc. Crown 8vo. Price 3_s_, 6_d_. net. A Story in Verse.
+
+
++GOLF FOR THE LATE BEGINNER.+ By Henry Hughes (One of Them). With
+Thirty-two Illustrations from Photographs specially taken for the Work.
+Fcap. 8vo. Price 1_s_. net. Third and Revised Edition.
+
+_World of Golf_ says: "Every stroke and club are carefully explained.
+An excellent shillingsworth."
+
+
+
+_RECENTLY PUBLISHED_
+
+
++EUGENE DE BEAUHARNAIS: the Adopted Son of Napoleon.+ By Violette M.
+Montagu, Author of "Sophie Dawes, Queen of Chantilly," "The Scottish
+College in Paris," etc. With 24 Portraits and Illustrations. Demy 8vo.
+Price 15_s_. net.
+
+
++ROBESPIERRE AND THE WOMEN HE LOVED.+ By Hector Fleischmann, English
+Version by Dr. A.S. Rappoport. With Photogravure and 19 other
+Portraits. Demy 8vo. Price 13_s_. 6_d_. net.
+
+
++ROSE BERTIN: the Creator of Fashion at the Court of Marie Antoinette.+
+By Emile Langlade. English Version by Dr. A. S. Rappoport. With
+Photogravure and 24 Portraits. Demy 8vo. Price 12_s_. 6_d_. net.
+
+
++BOHEMIAN DAYS IN FLEET STREET.+ By a Journalist. Demy 8vo. Price 10_s_.
+6_d_. net.
+
+
++TRAVELS IN THE PYRENEES: including Andorra and the Coast from Barcelona
+to Carcassonne.+ By V. C. Scott O'Connor, Author of "The Silken East,"
+"Mandalay," etc. With 4 Illustrations in colour, 158 other
+Illustrations, and a Map. Demy 8vo. Price 10_s_. 6_d_. net.
+
+
++GUN DOGS.+ By Frank Townend Barton, M.R.C.V.S., Author of "Terriers:
+Their Points and Management." With 46 Illustrations from Photographs.
+Crown 8vo. Price 5_s_. net.
+
+
++HOME EXERCISE AND HEALTH: Five Minutes' Care to the Nerves.+ The
+Rational System of Exercising for Health rather than mere Strength. By
+Percival G. Masters, B.A. Cantab. With 32 Illustrations. Crown 8vo.
+Price 2_s_. 6_d_. net. A System of Exercises devised to promote health,
+and not muscle development only. It particularly aims at building up
+the nervous system. [Second and Revised Edition.]
+
+
++ENGINEERING AS A PROFESSION.+  By A. P. M. Fleming, M.I.E.E., and R. W.
+Bailey, Wh.Sc.  Crown 8vo. Price 2_s_. 6_d_. net.
+
+
+"Gives a general outline of the field of engineering activity, and sets
+forth the present facilities for obtaining satisfactory training and
+employment, with conditions of entry to the leading engineering
+institutions."--_The Times._
+
+
+JOHN LONG, Ltd., 12, 13 & 14, Norris St., Haymarket, London
+
+
+
+LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LTD.
+
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+
+[Transcriber's note: italicized text is indicated with _underscores_;
+bold text is indicated with +plus signs+.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Oyster, by A Peer
+
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