She went on.
"But you are right, mon ami, we must not dwell on possibilities. See now, my little Dereek, there must be no more talk of this divorce. Your wife must give up the idea."
"And if she won't?"
The dancer's eyes narrowed to slits.
"I think she will, my friend. She is one of those who would not like the publicity. There are one or two pretty stories that she would not like her friends to read in the newspapers."
"What do you mean?" asked Kettering sharply.
Mirelle laughed, her head thrown back.
"Parbleu! I mean the gentleman who calls himself the Comte de la Roche. I know all about him. I am Parisienne, you remember. He was her lover before she married you, was he not?"
Kettering took her sharply by the shoulders.
"That is a damned lie," he said, "and please remember that, after all, you are speaking of my wife."