There was a long silence.
"When Dick does go," said Roger meditatively,—"moon looks jolly, doesn't it, peeping out behind the tower?—I wonder whether we shall have trouble with the other woman, the one who was with him when he was taken ill."
"At Fontainebleau?"
"Yes. I hear she was not at all a common person either, and as handsome as paint."
At the back of his mind Roger had a rueful, half-envious feeling that really the luck had been with Dick: one pretty woman after another, while he, Roger, plodded along as good as gold and as dull as ditch water, and only had to provide for the babes of these illicit unions. It did not seem fair.
"Perhaps there is another child there," he said.
"Oh no, no!" said Janey, wincing.
"It's no use saying, 'Oh no, no!' my good girl. It may be, 'Oh yes, yes!' The possibility has to be faced." Roger spoke as a man of the world. "There may be a whole brood of them for aught we know."
"Do you think he may possibly have married this—second one?" said Janey tentatively.