He did not see Esmé again until next evening. The knowledge of this new thing in his life made him penitent, anxious to find again the charm of the golden hair, of the brilliantly-tinted skin. He came from a long interview with his uncle, whipping himself with a mental switch; determined to be so strong that his friendship with Estelle might continue as it was--reasoning out that he had been mad upon the cliffs, half asleep and dreaming. He came in to find Esmé in one of her restless moods, reading over letters, peevishly crumpling bills, grumbling at poverty. He did not know that the memory of a pinched baby face was always before her eyes--that she feared for the life of the son she had sold. "Why, Es," he said, and kissed her. "Don't rumple my hair," she answered; "it's done for dinner." "Worrying over bills?" he asked gently. Esmé pulled away one letter which he had taken up. "I can pay them," she flashed peevishly. "Don't worry." Denise's allowance was due again--overdue--and Esmé did not like to write or telephone, and had not seen Lady Blakeney for a week. It was due to her, and overdue to others. Claire's bill ran in for four pungent pages, and ran to three figures, which did not commence with a unit. There were jewels, the motor hire. Oh! of what use was five hundred pounds? If she had had the boy here she would have gone to the country, been content for his sake. "Don't worry." Bertie put his hand on hers. "Es--I've been talking to Uncle Hugh." "Well?" She woke up, suddenly hopeful. "Well, I'm his nephew. He will make me a big allowance, leave me all he has--if--" "If what?" cried Esmé. "If we have a son before he dies," said Bertie. "That is the only stipulation. If not, I remain as I am. He has some craze about another Hugh Carteret. Of course there will be the title later on." "If we have a son." Esmé stood up and laughed. "A son!" she said, "a son! I--" "Why, Esmé!" Bertie ran to her. "Oh, don't cry like that. My dear, don't cry like that." The wild outburst of a woman in hysterics filled the little room. CHAPTER X "OH, of course, I'd forgotten." Denise had been reminded of her promise--looked vaguely annoyed. "H'm! I'm short now. Can't ask Cyrrie, can I? I'll bring you two hundred, Esmé! Give you some more in August, my quarter day." "But I want it. I've run into debt counting on it," said Esmé, sullenly. "Oh, you've got old Hugh to fall back on now Bertie's the heir. If I could ask Cyrrie--but I can't! Two hundred's a lot, Esmé. You must make it do." "You'll be away in August," Esmé said. "You can't send me so much in a cheque." "No. I'll get notes. I'll be sure to. I shall be at home. Wonders will never cease. I've got to keep very quiet just now," said Denise. "It's wonderful--and I'm not afraid." "Oh!" Esmé sat up. "And--if it's a son, Denise, your own son--you--what will you do?"