"That Carteret woman's worried the girl; she went to get her the money." After all, the Carteret woman had been once full of devotion; Denise had heaps of money; but it must not go too far. Cyril Blakeney was a man who walked straight to his goal. He meant to ask Denise how much she had sent, to warn her against being bled. He ate his plainly-cooked luncheon, almost in silence. A thorough Englishman, eating large helpings of roast beef and vegetables, topped up by a steamed pudding and cheese. A mouthful of something highly flavoured had no attractions for Cyril Blakeney. Denise, picking at a cutlet, watched him, grew brighter as she began to feel certain that she had managed everything so well. She would have her own money soon, send on the advance to Esmé. Denise pulled out the one foot she had dabbled into the Slough of Despond. She walked gaily again in the sunshine on firm ground. And yet the cue was on the call-boy's lips; the drama was being played out, and a net she never dreamed of closing about her. By tea-time the party had nearly assembled; they took it in the big drawing-room, chilled people coming gladly near the blazing fire, drinking hot tea, eating tea-cakes and hot biscuits as if dinner were twenty-four hours away. Lucy Richmond, a big blonde, married to one of the best shots, came to sit by Denise. She was a dull, stupid woman, deeply impressed by herself. Hostesses were profoundly bored by Mrs Richmond, but she delighted in house-parties and was comfortably certain that Gus, her lean little husband, was only asked for her sake. "So nice to be here again, dear Lady Blakeney. I do love your big house. And now tell me all about the babies, and how they are." Denise nibbled a sandwich, and looked for rescue. She was lamentably ignorant as to flannel undervests and patent foods. "The little one is in knickers now, I expect, isn't he? I hope he wears...." Denise's appealing eyes raked Sir Thomas from his chair; they called openly for help. "That he wears really fine wool," said Mrs Richmond, heavily. "No, Sir Thomas, run away; you're not interested in children's clothes." "In knickerbockers," giggled Denise, faintly. "Not going to come out with the guns in 'em really, are you?" said Sir Thomas, blandly, ignoring everything except the last words. "Sportin' of you, Mrs Rich--very. Has Raleigh taught you shootin' then?" Mrs Richmond sniffed angrily. "Get me some tea," said Denise, "and oh, here's Cyril." The big man strolled across to his wife, handing her a telegram from a delayed guest. "Nuisance," he said; "good shot, too." "Oh! Lady Blakeney, I must show you my new pendant." Lucy Richmond forgot knickerbockers, and turned to a fresh subject. "One of those dear, old-fashioned, heavy things. Raleigh sent me to buy myself a birthday present, and it had just come in to Benhusan's."