Then Jean sat for a full half-hour staring straight before her, looking down the long vista of her own tragic past.
At midnight that letter would be safe in her hand. She consoled herself with the thought that, by acceding to Ansell’s demand, as she had done, she would rid herself of him for ever.
Her honour would be preserved, and Bracondale would never know. For the sake of her child, how could she confess to him?
He joined her in the petit salon, where she gave him tea, and then, till dinner, he retired into the study to complete the despatches for which Martin was to call and take to Downing Street.
At dinner she wore a pretty gown of cream lace, the waist and skirt being trimmed with broad, pale-blue satin ribbon, fashioned into big, flat bows; a Paris gown of the latest mode, which suited her admirably. It was rather high in the neck, and all the jewellery she wore was a single brooch.
He also looked smart in his well-cut dinner jacket, with a light grey waistcoat and black tie; and as they sat opposite each other they chatted merrily. She had composed herself, and was now bearing herself very bravely.
It was, however, a relief to her when, just as they had finished dessert, Jenner entered, saying:
“Captain Martin is in the study, m’lord.”
“Oh, yes!” exclaimed the great statesman, rising at once. Then, turning to Jean, he said: “You’ll excuse me, dearest, won’t you? I must get Martin off. I’ve finished. Have you?”
“Yes, dear,” was her reply. “You go. I’m just going to see Enid for a little while.”