“I must believe you,” sighed Eve. “I want to believe you, and to be happy again.”
“Foolish Eve. Can it be that an irrepressible young woman’s greeting could interfere with your happiness?”
“It was foolish, no doubt. Women are very foolish when they love their husbands as I love you. There are scores of women I meet who think of their husbands as lightly as of their dressmakers. Would you like me to be that kind of wife—to be lunching and gadding, and driving and dancing in one direction, while you are betting and dining and card-playing somewhere else? I should be nearer being a woman of fashion than I am now.”
“Be ever what you are now. Be jealous, even, if jealousy be a proof of love.”
“There was a child in the boat—a handsome black-eyed boy. Is he her child, do you think?”
Having affected ignorance at the outset, Vansittart was forced to maintain his attitude.
“Chi lo sa?” he said, with a careless shrug.
“Was it not odd that Mr. Sefton should be escorting her?”
“Not especially odd. She is a public character, and has troops of admirers, no doubt. Why should not Sefton be among them?”
“I never heard him mention her when he was talking of the theatres.”