"Living a lie," she said bravely, though with all her nature yearning for him. "No, Bertie, no."
He pleaded on—pleaded with lips which touched her hotly and yet reverently, with soft whispers of what life might mean. "Estelle—then come to me. Let us go away altogether. Take some house in the country, and live for each other. People would forget in time."
"And Esmé?" Estelle asked simply. "How would she live?"
"I would give her money, what I could spare; then she has someone who supports her; there is no doubt of that, Estelle, or I would not be here now. I would have buried my love for you, taken her away to Cliff End if she had been faithful to me."
"You do not know," Estelle faltered.
"I know she can pay bills, do as she chooses. It comes from someone."
Estelle sat silent. People said it came from stolen jewels, and she did not tell him. She knew him so well; she feared his burst of wrath, his going straight to Cyril Blakeney and demanding proof or retraction.
"It is time to go," Estelle said. "Bertie, I'll tell you to-morrow. Come to me about four. I'll be alone. I'll tell you then."
With a sudden thrill of fear and joy she knew that in her own sultry room she might be less strong.
"For if I lose you, I shall go to the Devil without you," Bertie said recklessly.