"How is he?" Esmé darted through the crowd. Sir Cyril stood near his wife, his big face set coldly.
"The boy? Oh! much better, thank you. So nice of you to take an interest in him." Denise's voice shook from nervousness.
"May I not come to see him?"
Sir Cyril interrupted quietly. "Impossible," he said, "impossible, Mrs Carteret. The boy is to be kept quiet. Come, Denise."
It was an open snub, given before people who looked on full of malicious curiosity.
Esmé stood, white under her rouge; there was something, and she did not know what it was.
"Come, let us go to supper." She turned, laughing, to her partner. "I'm thirsty."
The lighted room, masses of flowers, gay dresses and bright jewels, swam before her eyes. Then at the door she saw Luigi, and saw him wave and smile to her.
The secret was undone. This man knew. Fate had brought him to London.
Mechanically she walked on.