The breeze, with wet freshness, cleansed the over-perfumed room, fluttering the papers on the writing-table. The top sheet sailed through the air and settled on the hearthrug. Mechanically Esther picked it up to replace it, the habit of order being strong upon her.

Unavoidably she saw that it was covered with figures in angular French writing, money sums by the look of them, with frequent signs of the pound and the franc. She anch.o.r.ed the paper upon the blotter with a little carving of amethyst crystal, then, turning away, perceived Lady Clifford, motionless in the doorway, regarding her with eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Your papers were blowing about," explained Esther. Inwardly she was asking herself: "What is the matter with me? I always seem to be imagining things with this woman!"

With one of her swift movements the beautiful Therese s.n.a.t.c.hed up the rescued sheet and tore it to bits.

"It is of no consequence, this," she remarked indifferently, dropping the pieces into the waste-basket.

Again Esther noticed those stumpy, abbreviated fingers, so oddly at variance with the rest of their owner.

"_Bien_," said Lady Clifford, flashing a charming smile upon her. "Let us have our _dejeuner."

She led the way downstairs.

CHAPTER IX

At the _gare_ next morning, Miss Clifford, having selected a likely train, leaned forward in her brother's car and eagerly scanned each arrival as he issued from the exit. What if Roger did not arrive after all? These trains were so booked up at this season, he might not have been able to secure a _wagon-lit_. Still, he usually managed things....

"Roger! Roger!" she shouted suddenly, so that at least half a dozen travellers turned in her direction.

The young Englishman in the Harris tweed coat wheeled at the sound of her voice, and reached the car in a dozen quick strides. He was nearing thirty, tall, but less tall than Sir Charles, with features similar but not so p.r.o.nounced, and eyes intensely blue. He had his father's humorous mouth modified and softened, and to the old man's look of stubborn strength he added something which suggested more imagination and sensitiveness. He appeared in excellent condition, wiry and vigorous, his skin tanned from five days of sea and wind.

"Roger, darling!"

"Dido, my dear old girl!"

His bear-like embrace brought comfort to her heart. She held him off at last and gazed on him with deep affection.

"This is good of you, auntie, to come and meet me. I didn't expect it."

"As if I wouldn't!"

She kissed him again warmly, and the nature of this second embrace conveyed to him the knowledge that something was amiss.

"What's wrong, Dido? Anything happened?"

"It's your father, Roger--he's ill."

"Ill! Why didn't you cable?"

"I did, to your Chicago address, three days ago."

"It should have been Marconied to the boat. What's the matter with him?"

"Typhoid fever, my dear. We've been rather distressed."

His face grew serious.

"Good G.o.d, that's bad!"

"Don't be too alarmed, he seems to have a mild case, thank heaven, and naturally we are doing all that can be done for him. We've got two splendid nurses, and a doctor who is giving us his entire time."

"What doctor is it?"

The chauffeur, having strapped the luggage to the back of the car, was looking to them for instructions.

"What would you like to do, dear? Stop anywhere, or go straight home?"

"Oh, home. I want to see the old man."

In a twinkling they had left the _gare_ and were heading for the heights."

"What luck to be here!" exclaimed the young man with a luxurious sigh.

"I had hoped to get a fortnight later on, but as things have turned out I finished up much sooner than I thought I should. I found I could get a pa.s.sage on the _Berengaria_, and I can tell you I didn't waste much time saying good-bye. Out where I've been, in the West, it's ten below zero, with the wind cutting like a knife. People can abuse the Riviera all they like, but after that sort of thing it seems like Heaven."

He glanced out at the town appreciatively, throwing back his coat.

Then he turned again to his aunt.

"I thought you always had Cromer when you wanted any doctoring?" he said.

"So we did, but he got so very fashionable we felt he didn't give us much attention. Too many kings and queens, you know! Then we heard of this other man through Captain Holliday. You remember Arthur Holliday?"

"Do I not?"

Her nephew made a slight grimace.

"Oh, I know you never cared for him, but this is quite apart from anything personal. You see, when Arthur was so terribly damaged from that last smash of his, he met this Dr. Sartorius out in Algeria. He was absolutely a wreck; none of the doctors who had seen him could do anything more for him. Well, this doctor took hold of him, experimented on him, and really made him over. I'm not exaggerating, the result was a miracle, everyone will tell you so. It was enough to give one enormous confidence in the man."

"Well, I'm glad you've got him."

"Yes, I'm thankful. He's unattractive to meet, indeed he is rather an odd, cold-blooded creature--a scientist mainly--but what does that matter if he is really so able?"

Roger nodded. Then, after a pause, he inquired casually, but in a faintly altered tone:

"And how is She?"

"Therese?" his aunt returned, understanding at once. "I was going to tell you. Do you know she has been so charming lately, that I am beginning quite to like her?"

"No!"

He raised incredulous eyebrows.

"It's true. Her whole disposition is improved. She is so changed that except for just a little petulance now and then, which I'm sure she doesn't mean, she's--she's---- But you'll see for yourself."

"I can't believe it."