"Are you wearing the heavy diamond pendant, m'lady?" "No." Denise flushed, bending over something on the dressing-table to hide her rising colour. "It's not here, m'lady, and it was here at luncheon-time when I gave you the pink pearls." "What's that?" Sir Cyril, big-jowled, heavy, strolled in. Sutton repeated the news of the loss, turning over the cases. "The case is here," she said, "but I noticed it open." "The pendant old Aunt Sukey sent?" Sir Cyril went to the safe himself. "That's valuable." "I--it must be there somewhere. Lock the safe, Sutton." Denise would have told the maid she had sent the pendant to be cleaned. Cyril was one of the men who question closely. It would have been: "To which shop, Den? I could get it for you to-morrow." "It must be there," she repeated sharply. "It's just muddled away; or I may have lost it. I'm very careless." "We'll look to-morrow. It's time to go now." But big Cyril Blakeney stood still for a minute, staring at the safe; thoughts which he longed to smother rising in him. He had seen Esmé Carteret bending over the safe, fingering the jewels. She could not ... it was a monstrous thing! He put the idea away resolutely as though it were some crawling beast; came down to where his wife was getting into her motor. "You must have dropped it," he said slowly, "but I thought you never wore the thing. We'll offer a reward." "Oh, very well," Denise Blakeney answered nervously, pulling at the buttons of her gloves. "Oh, I may find it to-morrow. Wait and see. I often stuff things away into other places, if I am in a hurry." "Esmé Carteret"--Denise could see the big, heavy face thrust forward, as Sir Cyril lighted a cigarette--"Esmé Carteret is--er--pretty well off, isn't she, now that old Hugh's sons are dead?" "She says she's racked by poverty." Denise flushed and faltered at this mistake.... "Oh, yes, of course, he makes her a splendid allowance; he must, or Esmé could not go about as she does." "You're an extravagant little monkey yourself," said Sir Cyril, equably. "I asked Richards a fortnight ago what your balance was, and he said five hundred. Yesterday I was in at the bank and he told me it was only a hundred." "I paid bills and things." Denise was not enjoying her drive. Supposing this inquisitive husband of hers looked at her bank-book and saw a cheque for two hundred to self. He would ask what she had spent it on; if she had gambled? He was curiously particular about high play, and women losing foolishly. Denise thought that she would change her bank; then knew again that she would be forbidden to. Cyril was indulgent, almost absurdly generous, but master in his own home. And--if he ever guessed--ever knew--Denise grew cold with chill fear; for, combined with dread, her shallow nature clung now to the big man beside her; she had forgotten her follies in the past. It is a shallow nature's joy, it has power to forget.