Death of the Earl of De Vinci on the eve of his marriage. Then Esmé 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, Esmé, is a necessity now."
Esmé 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."
Esmé 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."