"Mr Herbert, I've dropped a brooch, just over there; try to find it for me." Esmé sent the boy away, stood staring at the Italian. "I have not ten minutes," he said. "I have to go, but my uncle would have me come here to see the English monde. And so--I see the child is hurted, but is nearly well again. I came yesterday," he said. "I leave to-morrow, recalled to Italy, or I would have gone to see him and you." He knew no one there. He was alone and he was leaving London. Yet at any moment he might meet Denise with her husband. "I am so glad to see you," Esmé faltered. "See, come to supper, and I will try to find Esmé; she is here too." She hurried him downstairs to the supper-room; saw Denise, and leaving Luigi ran across to her. Denise was with Lord Ralph Karton. "Denise!" Esmé bent down to her. "Get away. Luigi is here. He takes me for you. He is at supper with me. Get _away_, I say; but I must see the boy to-morrow, if I keep silence again--I must," she said. Denise Blakeney slipped to the door, stood there panting, hiding; she was not well, she told Lord Ralph; sent him for her husband. "Esmé--I dare not," she whispered back; "but here--you are hard up--take this for gratitude." She slipped a great bar of diamonds from her bodice, held it out. "It cost a thousand," she said. "But you've saved me." "I'll take it if I see the boy," said Esmé, sullenly. "Not until Cyril's out of London. Telephone to me. I dare not." Esmé's fingers closed on the glittering toy she held. It was magnificent; meant ease, peace--for months. "So again I sell him," she said bitterly. "Go, Denise, quickly, while there is time." She was pressed against Denise by the crowd, struggled away just as Sir Cyril came down the stairs to his wife. Esmé slipped the diamond bar inside her dress, fastening the clasp to some lace. She went back to the Italian doctor, sat talking to him, saw him leave, and at the last was almost discovered. For Luigi, bowing low over his country-woman and hostess, had told joyously of his meeting with Milady Blakeney. "I will tell the uncle who said she was not fair that he is blind," he laughed. The Marchese smiled, puzzled. "Fair to us, perhaps," she said. "She has gone home, poor lady." "But no," said Luigi, puzzled. Then the crowd separated the two Italians. Luigi went back to his hotel, and on next day to Italy. A line no broader than that of a spider's weaving had saved Denise from exposure. She drove home so frightened that she looked really ill; went to her room, clinging to Cyril's arm. The husband she had once treated so lightly seemed now a bulwark between her and all misfortune. To lose him--lose her home, her position-- Denise was pale, exhausted, as she slipped into her big chair, crouched there shivering. Sutton, stiffly sympathetic, unloosed the clinging satin gown, brought a warm, rose-pink wrapper. Cyril ran for brandy. "But, milady, the bar of diamonds. It is gone."