“Peter is different,” she said. “I realized it when I saw him last night. He’s not the same man. And can you wonder? Leslie, I never loved him. You’ll think that’s a horrible thing to say of the father of my child. He represented--I don’t know, curiosity, I suppose--adventure--the grand hairpin turn of life, where so much is upset and smashed, so many hopes and ideals die. And he never loved me. He was infatuated and he was fond of me, and had a wonderful chivalrous feeling that he was rescuing me from something. That is half his trouble now, that he knows he didn’t love me, and it makes him feel ugly and ashamed. You think the child may bring us together. I’m becoming quite a thought reader! But that sort of thing really doesn’t happen, does it? Children really do not determine very much. Half the women who are divorced have children who love them and whom they love, but it didn’t prevent--things happening. I think Peter and I might be good friends, and the boy might love us both, even though we were apart, for children give you back what you give to them. I could give him such a lot.” With an impatient shake of her head she sat up and walked resolutely to the window. “Let us talk of rabbits,” she said. “How did you break this?” she asked. For a new and unpainted sash had been put into the window space that morning. “Never mind about that. A visitor put his head through it. Jane, you’re taking rather a hopeless view of life, aren’t you?” The woman shrugged. “My dear, what can happen? If this were a story and it wasn’t real life, I should go away somewhere, contract a malignant fever and die to soft, slow music! But I refuse to offer myself up as a sacrifice in order that my story shall have a smooth and a happy ending! And if I die, Peter will endow me with all sorts of gentle qualities which I don’t possess, and will pass the rest of his life in the twilight of melancholy. I know men!” Leslie was laughing softly. She had too keen a sense of humour not to appreciate the fact that this entanglement had its funny side. Suddenly she became serious. “There are only a few questions I want to ask you, that I’ve never asked before. Did you give Druze your emerald necklace?” Jane nodded. “Yes. This mythical person wanted thirty thousand pounds. I could only draw twenty without Raytham knowing. The necklace was worth twelve thousand, and I suggested that Druze should sell it. She jumped at the chance. I thought she had taken it away a week before she actually did.” “You can’t account for the pendant being found in her hand?” Jane shook her head. “And you don’t know where the rest of the chain is to be found?”