The big man came in. There was a sense of power about him and of relentless purpose. His under jaw, his deeply-set eyes, were those of a man who, once roused, could be cruel, and even merciless.
"Hello! Mrs Carteret." He was always cordial to Esmé. "We've missed you lately. Den, the boy's peaky—wants fresh air, his nurse says."
Esmé turned white, clenched her hands until her gloves split and burst.
"Send him to the sea," said Denise, carelessly. "Broadstairs, Cromer, anywhere, Cyrrie."
"No, I think we'll go home. It's better for you too." Sir Cyril's big jaw shot out. "We'll go home, Den. I've wired, and the boy can go on to-morrow. Drive down, it will do him good, in the big car."
"Oh!" Esmé saw that Denise objected, hated going, yet was afraid to object once her husband had decided.
"Oh, I'm glad you're sending him out of London," Esmé burst out. "He looks wretched. I am glad."
"He's your godson, isn't he?" laughed Blakeney. "You were good then, Mrs Carteret. Seen to-day's paper? That little fool of a Cantilupe woman has made a mess of it, and Cantilupe was right to take it to court. Seen the evidence? She forged his name to a cheque for five hundred to give to this wretched man. Trusted to Canty's absolute carelessness. He never looked at accounts. But the bank grew uneasy, 'phoned to Canty, and he said it was his signature all right and paid. Then he found out where the money had gone to, and all the rest, and she defended like a fool. The kindest fellow in the world, but he's merciless now. Told about the cheque so as to shame her."
"She was his wife. He should have remembered that," faltered Denise.
"She had deceived him," Sir Cyril answered. "No man worth the name forgets that. She deceived him. I couldn't forgive five minutes of it, especially as there are no children; not that sort of deceit. I was even too hard on folly once, but that's different." He went out of the room, big and strong and determined.