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, Esmé! Give you some more in August, my quarter day."
"But I want it. I've run into debt counting on it," said Esmé, 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, Esmé. You must make it do."
"You'll be away in August," Esmé 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!" Esmé 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 Esmé, 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."