"Es—I'm in mortal fear—fear of Cyril."
Esmé stopped crying to listen.
"He'll divorce me," said Denise, dully. "He's off to Central Africa or somewhere now, but I know he means to, and what troubles you is the one thing which would save me. He told me once that if his wife had children he would never disgrace their mother. He meant it. Cyrrie says very little, and he means it all. He's so quiet, Es, so big. I'm afraid!"
"But surely," Esmé queried, "there's no evidence?"
"Oh! evidence!" Denise shrugged her shoulders. "I've been reckless lately, Es—a fool. I've stayed with those Bellew people near Ascot. I've been a fool with Jerry; he was such a boy that I was too open; being very little harm in it, I judged the opinion of onlookers by my own feelings; and Cyrrie's found out. He knows the mad things I've done. The boy was so proud of being my belonging—bah! I know! I can see Cyrrie look at me with a threat behind his eyes. Think of it, Esmé! The disgrace! Those vile papers reporting; poor Jerry defending; and then the after life. Oh! if one could only see in time. If I had stopped to think two years ago—it may be too late now. I've been absolutely making love to Cyrrie lately, and he looks at me with such a smile on his big face. You see, there's the title—it's as old as the world, almost—and all the money; and we have no heir; that vexes Cyrrie horribly. He'll get rid of me and marry Anne Bellairs, his cousin, a great, healthy, bovine country girl, while I sit in outer darkness and gnash my teeth."
"Oh, Denise! Oh! if we could change—" Esmé's voice rang so shrilly that Lady Blakeney dropped her cigarette and picked it up again from the skirt of her rich white dress.
"Esmé," she said, "it's burnt a hole in it. Heavens! yes! if we could!" She threw away the cigarette. "If we could!"
In her heart she knew she ought to tell Esmé not to be foolishly hysterical. Talk quietly and soothe her. Instead, with her eyes alight, she fed the flame of the fear of loss of fun. Talked of how a baby was a nuisance in London, of how much they cost.
"If you could give me yours," she said, "and pretend that it was mine. Lord! what a difference it would make for me."
Esmé sat staring at her, puzzled.